Power
by Enchanted4964
Summary: Size is no guarantee of power...look at Ginny George Weasley, Chapter 6 Order of the Phoenix. Power: The ability to wield or exercise authority over others. A look into Ginny's Power over the men in her life.
1. Chapter 1 Arthur

**Chapter One – Arthur's Guinevere**

They had agreed that Ron would be their last child, not that Weasley men had very much control over the number of their offspring. Weasley progeny was famous or infamous, as the case may be, for the potency of their seed. Indelicately speaking, they bred like rabbits and yet not a single solitary female child among them for untold generations. But just as many a Weasley bride before her, Molly Prewett Weasley had her heart set on a daughter.

When his wife of 10 years looked at him with her doe eyes and said, "Just one more Arthur, I do so want you to have your Guinevere", he could not refuse his wife her heart's desire, as many a Weasley male before him. Perhaps then it was not so much the breeding prowess of the Weasley clan as it was the ever-elusive quest for the Weasley female that accounted for the sheer volume of the Weasley brood.

Molly was a fanciful woman; something that Arthur normally had no problem indulging. When Molly had heard the family folklore that the Weasley's, although there was no evidence of the fact, were descendants of Merlin himself, Molly was taken with the notion of honoring that lore, by naming her children after King Arthur's legendary court. Arthur cringed at the very idea of subjecting his children to such a fate, so he came up with a compromise. They drew straws. Whoever won would have the honor of naming any given child conceived of their union. Luckily for his other five sons, only his third child Percy was unable to dodge that hex. Percival, the noblest of King Arthur's Knights of the Round Table and therefore, in Molly's eyes, worthy to be a namesake for her third son. Truth to tell Molly named all their children in the end, another concession Arthur was willing to secede to his Mollywobbles, although they both liked to pretend otherwise. His other five sons were secretly pleased that their father had devised a way for them to avoid being named Lancelot or worse, Percival.

When Molly became pregnant for the seventh time, in her heart of hearts she knew, as only a mother can, that the child growing in her womb was a girl. Oh, she had hoped in her other pregnancies that a girl had been conceived, even to the last moment, but she always knew that another son would be born. She was three months along before she told Arthur that they were expecting. As she lay in her husband's embrace, in the hushed whispers of sated lovers, she told him.

"Arthur love?" 

"Hmm," Arthur responded, his hands feather soft on her skin, distracted by the curves of her body convex to his own, the warmth of her womanhood pressed to his side, the curve of her thigh along his own, the sweat of their lovemaking cooling on their skins, their hearts beating in a rhythmic tattoo.

He knew that tone in her voice; she was about to make a confession. Whenever she had something of import to convey, she waited for these quie moments in the privacy of their room, after their brood had settled for the night. He had been patiently waiting for the past few weeks for the confession that she was again pregnant and now it appeared his wait was over.

He first had his suspicions when she started sleeping on her back, a sure sign that her breasts were beginning to feel sensitive. Then her areolas had darkened to a dusky shade, and her belly began to round out very slightly. Not to mention that she would cry at the drop of a wizard's pointy hat. It had become a bit of a tradition for her to impart the news of the impending birth of a child while in bed and after a particularly passionate bout of lovemaking. That was of course a side benefit of pregnancy; his Molly would become quite aggressive and vocal in her demands in the bedroom, directly after the first trimester of pregnancy, and Arthur was more than happy to reap the benefits.

"We're going to have another baby, you'll finally have your Guinevere" she whispered, her voice breathless with excitement.

Arthur frowned. "Molly love…"

Molly interrupted before Arthur could finish his thought. "I know what you're going to say Arthur, but this time is different. This time, I know it's a girl."

Arthur sighed. "Just promise me, you won't be disappointed if it's another son."

"I promise." She beamed at him, a sure sign that she was undeterred in her belief that they were indeed having a daughter.

After a bit of silence, as both of them momentarily became lost in their own thoughts, Molly continued, "I've been thinking about her name."

Arthur looked down at his wife, surprised. "I thought you wanted to name her Guinevere?"

"Well I did, but I've been thinking, this will be our seventh child, a seventh daughter born of a seventh daughter – a very powerful magical number. She deserves a unique, exotic name. So I've decided on Ginevra, it's Guinevere in Italian, a beautiful name for our beautiful daughter."

Arthur cringed, but did not protest the name, secure in the knowledge that their seventh and last child would be another son.

But as time began to slip by, something strange happened, Arthur's steadfast assurance of the impeding birth of his male progeny began to crumble.

It all started with a dream.

He saw himself in one of the bedrooms of the Burrow, and he knew, as we sometimes know in dreams, that he was in the bedroom of his seventh child. It was painted in the lightest of pastel pinks and at the center of the room was a twin bed. On a white dresser was a menagerie of stuffed magical creatures. There were frilly lace curtains at the window and a hand made pink rope-chain rug on the floor by the side of the bed. He walked over to the bed with a bit of trepidation and anxiety, afraid of what he might find there.

The first thing he noticed was the long red hair that was fanned out on the pillow, the long straight locks had giant curls at the ends and it was a deeper shade than that of his sons. Lying on her side with her hands tucked under her cheek was a little girl of about six or seven. On the bridge of her nose was a tiny smattering of freckles, her bow red lips were parted, as she breathed low shallow breaths.

He watched her, as if in a trance and in complete denial as to whom this petite little girl was in connection to him. As he watched, her lips quirked into a smile.

"You're staring at me again, Daddy," she whispered, a mischievous lilt in her voice.

"I know princess, I'm sorry. Did I wake you?" he answered contritely as he sat on the side of what he knew now to be his daughter's bed.

"S'okay, Daddy, I was just pretending. I was waiting for you," she answered, her eyes still closed.

"You were?" he answered, a smile in his voice.

"You didn't read me a story tonight."

"Didn't Mummy read you a story for me?"

"Not the same," she pouted as she finally opened her beautiful almond shaped caramel eyes, flopping onto her back she extended her arms to him,

He responded to the magnetic pull of her pleading eyes and drew her into a tight embrace. Arthur then felt something coming from the deep pit of his stomach and spreading to his chest, as the pounding of his heart quickened from the simple embrace of the small arms that were clasped around his neck in a fierce hug. He knew without a shadow of a doubt, that this tiny little treasure was the axis of his universe.

When he awoke the next morning, he was disturbed by the dream. He'd never dreamed of his children before they were born and it left him a bit anxious as to significance of his nocturnal wandering. Wizards placed great import in their subconscious travels; they were thought to either be symbolic forewarnings or prophetic portents of things yet to be.

Sporadically, as the months wore on, he would dream of his little Ginevra, in various stages of her life. The only constant in the dream was that none of the other family members would ever wander into them; only he and his daughter were present. He saw her as a precious little bundle in his arms, a precocious toddler, a mischievous child, a gangly, awkward and shy adolescent, a blossoming teenager, and a beautiful self-assured young woman. He saw in his dreams, gap-toothed smiles and scraped knees, shared conspiratorial laughter, shy tearful babblings of her first crush, a young woman's confession of her first love and the heartbreaking realizations that she belonged to another more important man in her life, her husband.

As the weeks passed and his dreams continued, he found himself bringing home gifts for a daughter that may never be born. Of course he kept these hidden from his wife; he did not want to give her false hopes.

The first of these was a stuffed Unicorn like the one he had first seen at her bedside table in that first dream. He enchanted it to prance in the air. It had a pink ribbon tied around its neck and he had the name "Ginny" embroidered across it.

After that, he brought home a newborn shirt that had "Daddy's Little Witch" printed across the chest.

He refurbished the cradle that had been used by Weasley men for generations in white and pink, and made a small wooden plaque with the name Ginevra carved into its polished surface. He placed it reverently on the headboard and then cast a Disillusionment charm on it to keep it secret from his wife.

Arthur was a man obsessed; he kept all his little treasures in a locked cedar chest in his shed far from the prying eyes of his wife. It was as if a seed of hope had been planted in his heart by his dreams and his wife's steadfast assurance that they would finally have the daughter they so deeply desired. He added to his treasure chest steadily through the months: a pink rattle, a pink bonnet and booties, a pink blanket with Unicorns prancing in a verdant field with white puffy clouds in a baby blue perfect sky. He knew he was in trouble when he began to collect items that he would dole out to her throughout the years. He had purchased a perpetual leather-bound diary that would never grow thicker than an inch but would add pages as the need arose, and was charmed to only open for his little Ginevra. He had even bought a charm bracelet to give her when she turned sixteen, the first charm a figure of a Unicorn to commemorate the first gift he had purchased for her.

At night he would wait for the steady breaths that would announce that Molly was asleep, then he would gently place his head on her ever-growing belly and speak to his baby girl.

"All right there, princess? Daddy can't wait to see you. I love you, be good for your Mummy, try not to kick her so much, and she hates it when you press down on her bladder and spine. Be a good little princess for your Da, okay?"

He would then kiss his wife's rounded belly and hold Molly in his arms, as was his custom, with a large grin plastered on his face. He would then dream his dreams of being surrounded by the family he loved so dearly and of his little red-headed Ginevra.

One day close to the end of Molly's pregnancy, Arthur came to the horrible realization that if indeed this seventh and last child would not be a girl as he had foolishly allowed himself to believe, he would be devastated, probably more so than Molly.

The boys had even taken to talking about their little sister as if it was a forgone conclusion, and even though in the past it had brought an indulgent smile to his face, now it only struck terror in his heart.

He could handle being a father to six boys, his six little hooligans. But a precious little girl? And then another thought struck him right in the gut. Someday a boy would come along and take his princess away from him. She would experience her first crush and her first broken heart! The mere thought of it broke his heart in two. Merlin's grey beard! She was not even born yet, but to think of tears welling in her beautiful brown eyes, set his heart pounding painfully in his chest.

Oh yes, Arthur Weasley was in deep trouble. To have such deep emotions over a child that he had yet to set eyes on was terrifying, and yet he could not seem to help himself. Arthur always prided himself to be a man ruled by logic; he was pragmatic to a point, and yet whimsical and illogical when it came to his love of family and his eccentric fascination with all things Muggle. He was patient and slow to anger, quite the opposite of his Mollywobbles whose temper would flare like a match and would burn out just as quickly. Arthur was a slow burn, but when he reached his boiling point the Weasley patriarch was a force to be reckoned with. His wife's mouth would snap shut mid-tirade and his children would freeze in their tracks, in apprehension of this rare occurrence, awaiting the awesome display that was Arthur Weasley in a rage.

And yet here he was this patient, steadfast, logical man in fear of the baby yet to be born. He knew, in the deepest, farthest corner of his heart and mind, that he loved her, loved her so deeply and in a way that was so different from the love he had for his beloved Molly and the love he gave so generously to his boys. Yes, he loved her madly, deeply, and irrevocably. He loved her before he knew her and one day he would tell her so.

He held her for the first time in wonder and fear that he might somehow hurt this tiny bundle, this miracle that he and his Molly had created. Tears in his eyes, he looked to his wife with pride bursting in his chest at what their love had wrought. This beautiful tiny baby, so much smaller than his boys when they were born, gripped his finger and looked at her father with such intensity that it left him breathless.

They were surrounded by their boys, all of them clamoring to hold their sister, their little Ginny.

Bill was the first to hold her, blinking rapidly to stave off the tears that burned behind his eyes. It would not do to cry in front of his siblings, it would undermine his authority and he could not have that. It did not stop him, however, from cooing and making a total fool of himself in their presence, but that was completely different. He promised himself as he held her cradled in the crook of his arms, that he would love and protect her until the day he died.

All Charlie was wondering was when he would be able to take her up on a broom without their Mum or Bill finding out, but then this stalwart, even-tempered, stoic boy took just one look at her and was besotted.

Percy snorted, "I hope she doesn't stay that horrible shade of red, it will clash with her hair." But he did not refuse when his father placed her in his arms, and he too, became lost in the intensity of his baby sister's eyes. It was love at first sight.

The twins plotted on how to turn her hair pink, and then something very rare occurred – they fought. Oh yes, the twins who finished each other's sentences and never argued over anything since they were always in complete accord, fought over who got to hold her first.

Ronnie, being only one-year old, was only happy that he would finally be able to sit on his Mum's lap again. He did observe her as he cuddled in his Mum's arms and decided then and there that he would keep her. He leaned over of his own accord and without prompting, gave her a wet kiss on her bright red fuzzy head.

"Oh, Arthur," his wife's voice was unsteady with emotion, "you finally have your Guinevere"

He looked at his wife and then his precious daughter. She was right, Arthur had his Queen Guinevere, and much like the King of legend, his Queen Guinevere would rule his heart, forevermore.


	2. Chapter 2 Bill

**Chapter Two- Broken Angel**

He had made a promise to her all those years ago, and now it was broken, like the language in her eyes that told him that she would never be the same again.

His family had arrived from England by International Portkey around noon, Cairo time. A subdued and somber family greeted him; so alien a reunion from his unconventionally boisterous family. There were forced smiles, fierce hugs and kisses laced with salty, barely contained tears.

"Hey, Little-Bit." He had opened his arms and she had walked into them willingly. She held him fiercely, her arms around his waist, her small hands clinging to the fabric of his t-shirt. She inhaled his scent deeply, as if seeking comfort in the familiar, and then she was as still as a statue in his arms.

He had studied her intently as she stood there among her family, trying to be unassuming. He catalogued the changes in her appearance, but more importantly, the transformation in her demeanor. Her hair was lank and flat, her eyes – usually vibrant and filled with mirth and mischief – were dull with dark circles beneath them, and her face was blank and expressionless. She was like a broken china doll in his arms and it tore his heart from his chest to see the empty shell of a girl that stood before him now.

_What had he done to her? What had that bastard done_

They sat down to a solemn lunch where they spoke quietly of inconsequential things. The air was heavy with unspoken questions. The light that was their family had dimmed; she was damaged, perhaps irreparably so. The radiance that once was Ginny's smile may never shine again. As they sat in the crushing silence of their own troubled and guilty thoughts, they each clung tenaciously to the hope that she would rise from the ashes of her violation, like a Phoenix , reborn.

The silence at the table was broken by her soft voice. "I'm sorry."

Their Mum let out a barely contained sob. "Ginny, no. You have noth–"

"I'm sorry," she repeated, cutting off her mother's words. "Please be patient...just a little patient. I...I'm fine."

Bill watched as she paused, swallowing the bile that threatened to surface at the blatant untruth of her words.

"I will be fine…just don't…don't give up on me okay?" After a moment, she turned to her Mum, dry-eyed. "May I be excused from the table?"

Her voice hitching slightly, her mother responded. "Of… Of course you may, darling."

Ginny folded the napkin and placed it to the right of her untouched plate of food, quietly stood and left the table for the solitude of the room that Bill had prepared for her use.

As soon as they heard the click of the door, Molly turned to her husband, buried her face in his chest and sobbed quietly in his arms. His father's expression, usually so open and jovial with his family, was blank as he absently drew circles across his wife's back. It was an expression Bill was not used to seeing on his father's face and it concerned him greatly.

"Dad? You okay?" Bill asked.

"I'm all right, son," his father responded, but did not look in his son's direction.

Bill paused for a moment before speaking. "I can see she's not doing fine, but…tell me, how has she been coping?"

"Oh, Bill, she doesn't eat, she doesn't sleep, she won't talk about it to any one. She's having nightmares almost every night, but I can't administer the dreamless sleep potion anymore by Madame Pomfrey's orders – it's just too addicting. It's not as if the potion was stopping her nightmares, but at least she was sleeping," his mother replied, a look of anguish on her face that was unbearable to watch.

"She won't tell us what happened. My imagination goes wild with the most horrible thoughts. I can't stop myself from wondering about all the ugly, vile, cruel things he could have done to her. Poppy assures me that she hasn't been violated, but sometimes, the way she reacts to being touched is unnatural. It makes me question what actually happened to her. I can't take seeing her like this, it…it breaks my heart to see my…my…baby…this way," she ended on a tormented sob.

Fred faced his brother a look of determination on his face that Bill was unaccustomed to seeing and said, "When she has those nightmares, she screams until she's hoarse, she thrashes about the bed and she always says the same things. 'No, Tom. Stop, please' over and over again, and then after a while she starts to scream 'No, not Harry, don't hurt Harry'. Then she cries in her sleep and after a while she starts to drone in a flat monotone 'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry' over and over again…" Fred trailed off, unable to continue.

George took up for his twin. "…after a while her voice sort of gives out and she just mouths the words and then just as suddenly, she stops. Her body goes taut and then limp as if the fight has gone out of her. It's the most…"

"…heartbreaking thing I've ever seen in my life. If that bastard wasn't already dead.."

"We'd kill him!" They nodded in agreement "We'd torture him first," they said in unison and grinned evilly at the thought.

Percy cleared his throat. "Before we left school, I researched in the library on how to deal with emotional trauma, but I couldn't find a single solitary reference. It was very frustrating to say the least, and quite an astonishing fact considering the Hogwarts library has at least a millennia's worth of books in its possession"

The twins groaned and rolled their eyes at their studious brother.

Bill smiled inwardly. That was just Percy's way of handling things.

"When we got back home I went straight to the Muggle library in the village and found several books, I found one of particular value, they call what she is going through Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"But how does that help us Percy, dear," his Mother interjected.

"Well Mother, it explains the symptoms and how to treat them. Ginny is displaying pretty much all of them: depression, anxiety attacks, reliving the trauma, difficulty sleeping, bursts of anger, lack of interest in things that used to bring her happiness, emotional numbness…"

"We know all that Perce, but how does that help us?" Charlie interrupted him. 

"I was getting to that, Charles." Percy pursed his lips in annoyance, both at being interrupted and his brother's use of a diminutive when addressing him.

"Actually, Ginny pretty much gave us the answer to her healing. We need to be patient with her, give her time, and listen to her when she's ready to talk about it. We need to try to avoid triggering the emotional buttons that might give her flashbacks. Time, love, patience and an understanding ear are all we can offer right now. We need to give her time, but we also need to make sure she doesn't isolate herself too much because that can lead to long-term effects that can be emotionally debilitating if unchecked."

"Is their such a thing as a medical healer that specializes in emotional trauma at St. Mungo's?" Bill asked to the room in general.

"Madam Pomfrey gave me the name of a Healer, but I don't know if and when she will want to see her. You know she can be a stubborn little cuss when she wants to be. Not to mention that this is a relatively new field in mental health medicine. We're not really sure how effective it can be." Molly answered.

"We'll just have to take it a day at a time. Let's not bring that up with her just yet. Eventually she may need someone objective outside of the family to speak to, so we'll just keep that under wraps for the time being," Bill advised.

"She's a smart little bugger. You'll notice she said all that for our benefit. She knows we're heartsick and worried, and she wanted us to know that she will be well, given enough time. We just need to be patient with her and let her heal in her own way, in her own time. She's strong and resilient . S he's not a hothouse flower . If uprooted and thrown on arid and rocky soil, she'll find a way to put down roots and thrive."

After the noon meal, the family took a tour of Cairo on an enchanted carpet that Bill had requisitioned from Gringott's. Ginny had given Bill a genuine smile when she first saw it; he had her sit in front of him as he steered the carpet through the busy market streets. They buzzed over the Great Pyramids of Giza and the Sphinx with its enigmatic smile and scarred nose.

When they set down at the base of The Great Pyramid of the Pharaoh Khufu, Ginny had refused to be taken inside. Bill would have rescheduled the tour for when she was ready to join them, but Ginny insisted he take the rest of the family; she would go another time. Charlie had volunteered to stay with her in the three o'clock sundial-like shade of the pyramid; he had visited Bill on hols last summer and was already familiar with the treasures housed there. 

That night in the quiet solitude of his room, Bill lay in bed contemplating the conversations at lunch that day and later at dinner. He smiled when he recalled the look of delight on Ginny's face as she enjoyed the novelty of riding a magic carpet for the first time. He had her sit in front of him between his raised legs, her back pressed firmly to his chest. She would let out a brief giggle of delight at a sudden dip or a sharp climb or turn, that contrasted with his mother's shrieks of horror. For a brief moment he saw a glimpse of the Ginny that he knew, she was in there, he just needed to be patient, just a little patient.

An unfamiliar sound brought him out of his reveries. He picked up his wand from his bedside table and padded out of his room barefoot and bare-chested, clad only in his pajama bottoms – a concession to his family's presence in his home. He followed the noise to the archway of his balcony and what he saw there shocked him. Sitting in the dark was his father, a fist to his mouth, shoulders shaking with silent sobs and tears streaming down his face. The sounds that had disturbed him were the occasional sobs that his father's traitorous body could not contain.

Bill stood stock-still, afraid to move lest he alert his father to his presence. His father was a proud, honorable man; in all his twenty-two years, Bill had never seen his father cry.

Without warning, Arthur turned pleading eyes towards his eldest son begging him for what he did not have the strength or presence of mind to do for himself. Bill understood the silent plea, raised his wand and cast a Silencing Charm. He watched, unchecked tears streaming down his own face, as his father opened his mouth in silent wails of despair. And then he did something he never thought he would have to do in his lifetime, he gathered his father in his arms as he vented his grief.

After what could have been mere moments or the span of hours, Arthur raised his head and nodded to his eldest. Bill removed the Silencing Charm. He watched his father gather his composure, a shaky breath escaping his lips. He placed a hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed it before standing up and walking toward the balcony entrance to the flat.

Without turning to face his son, he said, "I was supposed to protect her Bill. I failed to protect her."

"How could you have known, Dad? How could any of us have known that we needed to protect her from something like this?" he protested.

"I know that. My mind and my intellect are at war with my heart, and that knowledge is cold comfort. It doesn't relieve me of the guilt I feel. She won't talk to me Bill, she won't cry or rage. My little angel lays in that bed at night, a broken shell as she battles the demons in her dreams. I want to avenge her, my father's heart wants to hurt the man that hurt her, but I can't Bill, that man has been dead nigh unto twelve years. There is no one to expend my father's revenge on. Do you have any idea how powerless I feel? That's my baby, my all, my life, and I can't help her!"

Bill watched his father walk away, not once looking back. He sat there and watched the blanket of stars as they disappeared from the sky, a spectator to the miracle of the unhurried transformation from night to day as God's canvas unfurled before his tired eyes and his tortured mind.

"Da's been crying again hasn't he?" She stood in the same spot her father had the night before, clad in hand-me-down pajamas she inherited from Ron, her hair mussed from sleep and her eyes red-rimmed.

Bill did not know what to say to that so he remained silent. She walked over to him and climbed onto his lap. She pressed her cheek to his chest, the steady beat of his heart a source of comfort. They sat in silence for a long time, the cacophony of an awakening city in the background.

When she broke the silence her voice was a mere whisper.

"I want to tell him, Bill. I really do. But every time I start, the words get stuck in my throat...I'm…I'm afraid."

"What are you afraid of, sweetheart?"

"I…I don't know. It's all jumbled in my head. It's like I have these conversations in my head that tell me it's okay to tell – it's like Da's voice in my head telling me it's okay, everything will be okay." Her voice dropped to where he could barely hear her. He brought his head down lower in an attempt to catch the words as they escaped her lips.

"But then, I hear Tom's voice, taunting me, telling me that if I tell… you'll all…" she trailed off and was silent again.

"What, sweetheart? What does he tell you we'll do?" he prompted.

"I'm dirty! If…if I tell what he did…what I did…Oh Bill, I can't, I can't, don't make me say it!"

He grabbed her about the shoulders. "Look at me Ginny."

She shook her head against his chest.

"Look at me sweetheart, please, please, look at me," he pleaded.

Slowly, achingly, he watched as she lifted her tortured eyes to him.

"I love you. _We_ love you, with all our hearts and with every breath we take. Don't doubt that. Ever. Do you hear my words, Little-Bit? Hear only my voice when Tom starts to taunt you in your head. I want you to hear my voice telling you how much I love you, how precious you are to me. There is nothing, nothing on the face of this earth, or that the demons in hell or the angels in heaven could do to make me stop loving you. Do you hear me, little one? Nothing!"

She shook her head as if in denial, but he ignored her as he continued.

"When you hear his voice, I want you to think of Mum's voice as she sings you that lullaby you love so much, or when Dad calls you his little princess, listen to his voice as he recites your favorite fairly tale at night. Listen to Charlie calling to his Gin-bug, asking if you want to go for a bit of a fly around the paddock at the Burrow, or as Percy lectures you in his Prefect's voice as he calls you Ginevra in that way that only he can. You're the twins' Gollywobbles and partner-in-mischief; can you hear their laughter in your head, sweet girl? Think of Ron teasing you, the great prat, listen to his voice calling to you like he used to when you were both little 'Come on Ninny, let's go out and play ".

She was still and quiet as his voice and words began to penetrate her troubled soul and tortured mind and then just as suddenly as if a dam had been broken, the words burst forth and the tears sprang to her eyes, flowing down her cheeks and falling onto her clasped hands. 

She told him of her loneliness at school, about Ron's defection and inattention and how betrayed she felt. She told him how ashamed she was about her second hand books and robes, something that had never bother her in the past now seemed amplified by the thoughtless taunting of her dorm mates. She told him how she had found the diary and how at first Tom became her confidant, her closest, dearest friend, how she poured out all of her insecurities and hurt onto the pages of that wretched diary.

She told him about her bouts of shyness around the boy she loved as far back as she could remember, how when she had met him for the first time on Platform 9 ¾ that she knew she would love him until the day she died.

She started to notice the gaps in her memory, the blood on her robes and the feathers on her bed. How she began to fear the diary as she began to feel the intrinsic, malevolent evil that seemed to pour out of it, its foul and putrid thoughts seeping into her very soul. She would not tell him what happened in the Chamber and no amount of assurances or pleading on his part had swayed her to the contrary.

"I was a silly little girl! People almost died because of my stupidity and naiveté. Daddy told me never to trust anything if I couldn't see where it kept its brain. I let him use me to hurt people, Bill. I will never, ever forgive myself for that!"

She did not know at what point during her tearful confessions her family had come to the small balcony, but there they all stood in silent support. They gathered around what was the heart of their family, this little witch who was the center of their world, who held the happiness of her family in her small little hands.

She was startled when her father responded to her heartfelt outburst.

"We forgive you, princess, and in time you will come to forgive yourself. But the truth is there is nothing to forgive. Stronger, older and greater Wizards than you have been deceived by 'He Who Must Not be Named'. And yet here you are, my little witch, you survived and you will be the stronger for it, I swear it."

"Oh Daddy!" She flung herself into her father arms, the arms that had always protected her, loved her, and soothed her. "You don't hate me do you? You told me, but I didn't' listen. He…Tom…Tom said you would hate me. I'm sorry, Daddy, I…I'm so sorry."

"I could never hate you, princess. Never. I'm sorry too."

And so the healing began. The scene that day on the balcony of his flat would forever be imprinted in his memory as both one of the saddest and happiest moments of his life. She would be fine, in time she would be fine.

His Broken Angel's wings began to mend slowly that summer. True, she was forever altered by her experience – she would not trust as easily, but her loyalty once given was fierce, Tom could not take that away from her. The nightmares, though they became more infrequent with each passing day, would haunt her for the rest of her life. It was there in the back of her psyche, a scar in her heart and mind.

She told him years later that whenever Tom managed to break into her thoughts, undermining her sense of self-worth and planting seeds of doubt in her mind, she would think back to that day on the balcony of his flat in Cairo . She could then wrestle the dark shade that was Tom in her mind until she could only hear her family's voices telling her how much they loved her and that Tom could go straight to hell where he belonged.

On the rocky, arid soil that was the devastation and aftermath of the Chamber, she took root and thrived. Their precious English Rose thrived.


	3. Chapter 3 Charlie

**Chapter Three - Fireflies and Gin-bugs in June  
**

"I don't like her," she grouched.

"You just don't like the fact that she's taking Bill away from you." Charlie chuckled.

"That's just a happy coincidence, my not liking her is a bonus."

They sat in the tree-house that their father had made for her when she was eight, their feet dangling over the sides of the platform, their arms on the railing and their chins resting on their folded hands.

It was just as crooked and haphazardly put together as the Burrow. It looked as if the only thing holding it together was Ginny's force of will and maybe a little bit of magic. Ginny called it Burrow-South and she loved it. There were two places at the Burrow where Ginny could be found when she was brooding and that was her beloved tree-house or lying on her stomach on the branch of the gnarled tree that hung like a hammock over the River Otter.

How they managed to end up discussing things where she decided to indulge in her sulks was still a mystery to him.

"Well, if I want to indulge in a full blown out sulk, I sit in the tree-house," she told him.

"And why is that?" he asked, puzzled.

"Well, if I'm in a pouting mood, it's almost certain that a Weasley was the cause of it. I don't just sulk for the sake of sulking, you know?" she had given Charlie a quelling look when he couldn't stifle the snort that escaped his lips.

"Don't look at me like that, you wanker. I only indulge in non-Weasley related sulks every 28 days and that is to be expected. I i am /i a girl you know," she grumbled.

"Anyway, as I was trying to explain, a Weasley-related-all-out-no-holds-barred sulk manifests itself in the form of ranting and raving, indulging in the use of a few choice words that consist of only four letters, and usually ends by me screaming my bloody head off. I want to enjoy my sulk to the fullest in plain view of the Burrow so that the instigator of my infamous sulks, namely Fred, George and Ron, are well aware that I am sulking, thus giving them the opportunity to grovel at my feet and plead for my merciful and gracious forgiveness."

By the end of her exposition, Charlie had a glassy look in his eyes and he shook his head as if to shake off the cobwebs "You know Gin-bug, that actually makes sense. Does that work for you much?"

"Well no, but after a while Mum calls me in to wash up for dinner and by then I've had enough time to come down from my sulk-induced rage and have already planned a deviously clever revenge." She smirked at him mischievously.

He laughed. "Oh, of that I have no doubt. Okay, so you come here to sulk for the pure unadulterated indulgence of sulking, but what about the river then?"

"I go there for the serious brooding; the kind of brooding that requires serious thought. I can lie there for hours in meditative contemplation, or I go there whenever I need to make an important decision, or if I just want to sit quietly and let my mind go blank, taking in the sound of the rushing water and the wind in the leaves, the buzz of the insects around me, the wet smell of the grass so clean and fresh after the rain. I think that's what heaven must be like."

Charlie smiled at her indulgently. _What could a soon to be fifteen year old possibly worry about__  
_  
"Wipe that smile off your face, Charlie, I've had enough condescension hurled at me from Lots of Phlegm. Just because I have to tolerate it from her doesn't mean I'll tolerate it from you."

He bit his lip in an attempt to stop the smile from turning into outright laughter. Ginny however, was not amused. Charlie's reaction ignited her temper.

"You think I don't worry about Da, Mum, Bill and the Twins working for the Order. You think that because I am the littlest Weasley and I'm stuck up in a castle like bloody Rapunzel that the war doesn't touch me or affect me in any way. We almost lost Da last year Charlie, or have you forgotten? Not to mention Harry's now traditional end-of-year reunions with dear old Tom. Oh, and let's not forget our little field trip to the DOM this year, that was loads of fun too."

"I worry about you, too, do you think because you're so far away that out of sight is out of mind, you condescending self-absorbed prat!" She looked away from him for a moment.

Charlie remained quiet, waiting for her to continue. He knew from past experience not to interrupt her. She needed to release her worries and fears or they would fester and grow inside her like a cancer.

"Do you remember Cedric, Charlie? He and his family used to sit at our table for Christmas pudding, you and the boys used to play Quidditch in the paddock afterwards. Wars are fought by the young, Charlie, while grey-haired men sit around tables and scheme their tangled webs. How many young lives will be lost before this is over?

"When all is said and done, and Tom is nothing put a pile of ashes blown away in the wind, will we, as a family, have come out of this unscathed? Which Weasley son will be sacrificed on the funeral pyre of war? We're Weasleys, blood-traitors and if by some horrible twist of fate, Tom manages to win this war, we might as well dig our own graves and lay down in them with a lily in our hands and wait, because we'll all be as good as dead."

"What about Percy? Do you think my mind doesn't go round in circles over that stupid git? Yes, he's an odious, arrogant, self-absorbed wanker, but he's _our_ wanker and… and I miss him. I actually miss his pompous lectures and know-it-all looks. His desertion didn't just hurt Mum – oh, she's the most vocal, I'll give you that – but Da… Da grieves for his son in silence. The Twins want to maim him permanently for making Mum cry. Ron just turns every shade of red in the color spectrum and refuses to even say his name."

"Did you know that Bill goes to visit him at the Ministry once a month to invite him to lunch? Percy just sits at his desk and refuses to acknowledge his presence, as if he's the injured party. But Bill, loyal steadfast Bill, ever the elder brother still trying to keep us all in line, told me he'll keep going until, and I quote 'the bloody pompous wanker gives in or the hexes start to fly.'" She laughed at that, but then sobered quickly.

"And you, you refuse to acknowledge that he ever existed. As if you don't have the same blood coursing through your veins, as if you weren't raised in the same house, shared scraped knees and hand me down clothes and punishments that were doled out by the same woman that bore you both." Her tone was reprimanding and Charlie took offense.

"He left us Gin, we didn't leave him. Why shouldn't I turn my back on him? He turned his back on us and over what_A bloody fucking job_!" He raised his voice at the end, his Weasley temper getting the best of him. Percy was a sore subject.

"I don't dispute that, Charlie and that's what makes it so difficult. To abandon his family over his convictions or over a cause he believes to be true and just, I could probably accept that. But to betray those who would never betray him is a bitter pill to swallow. Rage against it if you must, Charlie, but don't bury him as if he were dead or as if he never existed."

He was quiet for a while, contemplating her words and then he gave an awkward sort of chuckle. "I think we're sitting in the wrong brooding spot for this conversation."

She gave him a small smile. "Yeah, I guess we are at that."

"What about you, Gin-bug? How do you cope with your feelings for Percy?"

"I write him letters. Long, heartfelt, emotion-riddled letters. The first letter was a short but sweet Howler. The second letter I wrote him was a ten-pager, calling him ten kinds of fool eight ways to Sunday. Now I just write him letters letting him know how everyone's doing. I tell him trivial, insignificant things about my day. I tell him about my grades and classes, how Snape is still a greasy git, but I aced my Potions exam in spite of him. I sent him a copy of my final exam scores – I must say I did exceptionally well – he should have been proud. But I don't' know that for a fact, because he never writes b..baa..ack…" She paused, trying to regain her composure before continuing.

"He loves me Charlie, I know he does, but his pride is more important to him than my love, our love. How can he just set me aside like that, how can he just ignore me, as if I meant nothing to him? I will never understand that, there is nothing he could say to me that would ever excuse or explain that, and yet if he walked through our door asking me to forgive him, I don't think I could deny him absolution. I don't think things could return to the way they were before, but maybe, just maybe, we could build on that and make a stronger bond. I don't know, I just don't know for sure."

In an attempt to change the subject and end the uncomfortable enigma that was Percy, he asked, "What else do you think about?"

"Everything and nothing. Silly things, really. I think about Hermione and Ron and if those two will ever get a clue and realize they're nutters for each other."

And then hesitantly, "There's this boy in Ron's year…" she trailed off trying to gauge her brother's reaction.

Out of all the Weasley males, besides Percy, Charlie was the most even-tempered and practical. He was the only one she could start a conversation with the words, 'There's this boy'.

His lips curled into a smile. "Oh?"

"Don't 'Oh?' me, Charles. You know you're the only one I can talk to about this. Bill and Ron would go all big-brother on me, Percy would lecture me first, bring out a scrap of parchment and make me write down the pros and cons of dating at my age. Gred and Forge would tease me unmercifully and prank the poor unsuspecting bloke. Now I love you all to pieces, but why do I have to have six, strapping over-protective brothers! I might as well wear a chastity belt and be locked up in a castle tower!"

"The poor bloke that asks for my hand in marriage will probably have to wade through thorny nettles, fight off a fire-breathing dragon, battle an evil wizard and finally chisel his way through my chastity belt! Poor sod."

"No, love, just six fire-breathing brothers, and one very over-protective father."

"Thanks. That just makes me feel loads better."

"About this boy…" he prompted, "what seems to be the problem? You fancy him don't you?"

"Yeah, I fancy him well enough, I think." She didn't sound very enthusiastic.

"Okay, so let me see, you fancy him in a lukewarm, milk-toast toast sort of way and my guess is that he fancies you."

"Yeah, he does. He asked me to be his girlfriend after the Leaving Feast."

"Okay, so did you say yes and now you're regretting it?"

"Well no, I told him I would think about it over the summer and he's been writing me."

"And…?" he said, patiently.

"There's this other boy…"

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh!"

And they were back again to the ever-painful subject of one Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Didn't-Know-She-Existed.

Over the years, Ginny had confided in Charlie about her hopeless love for Harry. She had written letter upon letter detailing her heartache and disappointments. He could probably wallpaper his flat with the rolls of parchments dedicated to the subject of Harry Potter.

Ginny had come to confide in Charlie because he didn't treat her feelings for Harry as puppy love or superficial infatuation. She said she loved him, that she had always loved him, that she would always love him, and he believed her. She believed it with all her heart and mind and that was enough for Charlie.

That she had a serious full blown crush on him when she was eleven years old for the entire world to see and ridicule was still something that she didn't like to discuss with anyone for many complex, varied and painful reasons. She associated that time in her life with the incident in the Chamber of Secrets. She had told Tom every painful little detail about her unrequited love for the 'Hero of the Wizarding World' and he had used that against her.

She would never allow anyone that kind of power over her again and she decided her pining over Harry would end. She vowed to bury her feelings, but that was easier said than done. The heart wants what it wants; you can't reason with it or use logic to persuade it to stop loving, anymore than you can ask it to stop beating. "The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of."

She suffered and obsessed over it all through second and third year, finally giving up on him after the Yule Ball incident and Ron's thoughtless comments about Harry asking Ginny to the Yule Ball as a last resort since all the 'pretty girls' worth having were already taken. She had resolved to get over him and before the dust on her newfound conviction had settled, she met Michael Corner at the Yule Ball and started dating directly after.

He was dark haired and blue-eyed and did wonders for Ginny's self-esteem and her powers of speech and interaction around Harry improved dramatically. For the first time since she'd laid eyes on him on Platform 9 ¾, Ginny was acting like Ginny in Harry's presence.

Things didn't end well with Michael; he was a bit of a controlling, know-it-all sulky Ravenclaw. Charlie had told her she should never have dated outside her house; it was doomed from the start.

"So what are you going to do, Gin-bug?"

"I can't put my life on hold waiting for Harry to notice me," she said defensively.

"That's true, you shouldn't put your life on hold," he answered carefully.

"I mean if he hasn't noticed I'm a girl yet, he really needs to renew the prescription on his glasses. I sprouted breasts two years ago, for Merlin's sake!" She puffed out a breath of air in exasperation.

"And mighty nice breasts they are too, I might add. If you weren't my sister and I was five years younger, I'd be all over that," he teased wiggling his eyebrows at her.

"Eww Charlie! That's just…Eww…that's just gross. Incredibly flattering but totally disturbing."

"So what are you going to do about this boy?"

She sighed. "I really do fancy him, Dean's sweet and an incredibly talented artist, he drew a lovely penciled sketch of me. I had it framed and gave it to Mum. She gushed over it and started crying and saying what a lovely young woman I'm turning out to be. He's perfect boyfriend material. I mean, really – he's tall, dark and handsome. What more could a girl ask for, right?" She looked at Charlie hopefully as if she wanted him to convince her that dating Dean was the right decision.

"But he doesn't have green eyes, round-rimmed glasses and messy black hair. He's not moody and sullen. He's not the youngest Seeker in a century. He's not your brother's best mate and he's not being chased by a mad wizard intent in ruling the world, is he?"

Her shoulders slumped and tears pooled in her eyes. "No, he's not."

Charlie put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to his side.

"Well, my advice to you is this. Date the poor bloke and put him out of his misery and then proceed to snog him cross-eyed. He'll fall deeply in love with you and when you finally break it off with him, you'll have someone pining over you for a change."

She laughed at him through her tears. "Thanks, Charlie. If I'd had this conversation with Bill, he'd be halfway to buying that chastity belt by now."

They sat there in companionable silence, watching the sunset through the gnarled trees of their orchard.

"So, what are you going to do about Phlegm, I mean, Fleur?" he asked suddenly into the silence.

"Absolutely nothing. I trust Bill. If he loves her and wants to marry her, there must be something to her I'm just not seeing."

"Loosely translated, you're going to sic Mum on her aren't you?"

"Yep. I sure am."

The warm June breeze rustled the trees as twilight settled over Ottery St. Catchpole. The fireflies began their nightly ballet of twinkling lights; the crickets could be heard in the thickets, a lazy yellow moon hung low in the sky and his Gin-bug had her shoulder tucked under his arm and her cheek rested on his shoulder, as his rested on the crown of her head. They sat in silence enjoying the moment. When the moon rose higher in the June sky and they could not longer see each other for the darkness that held settled in for the night, they descended the rickety ladder and strolled arm in arm back to the Burrow.

If he could freeze one perfect moment in time to keep tucked away in his memory, It would be this moment of fireflies and Gin-bugs in June.


	4. Chapter 4 Harry

**Chapter Four - Interlude…His Idea of Heaven  
**  
If asked to describe his idea of heaven, this would be it.

The feel of the lush carpet of green grass beneath him. The warm May breeze as it rustled through the trees and caressed his skin in passing. The scent of flowers blooming in the spring air. The sound of the wind as it played across the waters of the lake as the insects buzzed flirtatiously from bloom to bloom. The bird song that could be heard just above them, as he lay in that semi-state of slumber in her lap.  
The caress of her fingers as they played with his hair or the feather soft touch on his face as she outlined its contours as if to memorize his features.

And her scent. Oh Merlin, that scent.

It was flowery, but no flower that he could name or describe. Perhaps it was the scent of a thousand flowers, all beautiful, all precious and coalesced into her unique and beauteous scent. She was everything that was good and beautiful and right in the world. Yes, she was worth fighting for, worth dying for. Those may have been mere words tumbling out of the mouths of other men, but to him they were as sure and true as the sun setting in the East and rising in the West. He meant them with every fiber of his being.

How had she become so important to him in so short a time, how could he have been so blind? Oh, the time he had wasted! He thought back to every moment he could have shared with her in the past six years. His triumphs and joys, his heartbreaks and sorrows, his anger and rage. The burdens of his life lightened by her mere smile. He knew now that there was only one person on the face of this earth that he wanted to share all those things with, his past, his present, his future. There was a God in heaven and he had made her for him to love. The thought took his breath away.

He loved her, so very much and he had yet to tell her. He was afraid to tell her but did not know why. It was not as if he was insecure in the knowledge – he was – and yet, he was afraid to tell her so.

"What are you brooding about now, Potter?" Her voice was whisper soft, like a caress on his skin. He shivered.

"I wasn't brooding," he answered without opening his eyes.

Her fingers caressed his brow, smoothing out the frown he had not realized he was making. "What's this then?"

"Squinting?" he tried, eyes still closed as he responded.

She chuckled. "What were you thinking about just now?"

He wanted to pass off her question with a silly retort, but then, without having asked his brain for permission, his mouth answered, "You."

Silence. And then,"Oh? And what were you thinking"

"How beautiful you are." i And how much I love you. /i

She took a moment to respond, but her soft reply surprised him. "I'm not really, but thank you for the compliment."

He opened his eyes and watched her from his position on her lap. She was not looking at him but at some far off point on the lake and there was a slight dip to the corners of her mouth, not quite a frown, but something more worrisome.

"I'm not as pretty as Parvati or Cho, with their flawless skin and dark hair and exotic beauty," she said, the dip in her mouth still in place, but then suddenly her mouth quirked into a mischievous smile. "Oi, when was the last time you had your vision checked, Potter?"

"Huh?"

"Well, after six years you finally realize that the seventh Weasley is a girl and now you think she's beautiful too. Either your eyesight's getting worse or the prescription on your glasses is too strong." She smiled down at him.

He laughed with her for a moment, but than he came to the startling realization that she really did not think she was beautiful in comparison to Parvati or Cho, and then he realized why. One girl he had taken to the Yule Ball as his date and the other girl he had been a complete fool over for two years. His gut clenched when he came to realize the insecurities his inattention had wrought.

His had lifted to caress her still smiling face. "Come here baby, lie down next to me."

She sighed and snuggled into his arms. He could feel her smile as she rested her cheek against his chest. "I just love it when you call me that."

"What?" he asked, puzzled. "Baby?"

"Yeah, don't know why really. Maybe because I've never heard you use an endearment with anyone before. I hate to admit this – I don't want it going to your already over-inflated head – but it makes me go all mushy inside," she giggled.

"Too late for that. My head's already too big –" he paused for effect. "Baby." 

She slapped his stomach and his abdominal muscles contracted lightly in response. Her hand then lay there in a light caress. He liked that. Quite a lot, actually.

"You are, you know," he said.

"I am? Uh, what am I?"

"Beautiful. Now shut up and listen, Weasley. Okay?" He interrupted before she could protest.

"Okay," she answered apprehensively.

"You have beautiful hair, I love your hair, it's vibrant and alive, it's fire and gold and copper, it's exquisite and lush. I love to run my fingers through it, it's the softest thing I've ever touched in my life and I…I love it."

"Your eyes, I love the way that they lift up at the corners like a cat, and when you first wake up in the morning or when you're tired it's more pronounced. But I really love the way you look at me with those chocolate brown eyes of yours, and you know how much I love chocolate don't you?"

"Yes, Harry, I know how much you love your chocolate." She laughed, her hand that had been lying on his stomach slowly made its way up to his chest and her delicate fingers began plucking at the fabric.

"Merlin, woman, I even love your hands. They're graceful and delicate. I love to hold your hand – it's so small and soft in my own. My hand is so much larger than yours, it makes me feel strong, protective and… possessive. When I hold your hand, it lets other blokes know you're mine and that they can all just bugger off!"

He looked down and focused on the freckles smattered across her nose. "I love the way your nose crinkles when you're annoyed with me, and it also gives you away when you're trying to lie your way out of some mischief you've cooked up and you don't really care of you're caught or not." He paused to place a small kiss on the tip of her slightly upturned nose. She looked up at him and smiled, and then scrunched up her nose at him playfully. His eyes then fell upon her lips.

"Your lips, Merlin! I really, really love your lips. They're lush and supple and when you pout I just want to nibble on your bottom lip and hold it between my teeth and give it a good nip and then lick it to make it better. I love the way they feel and taste on my own lips, and then there's that thing you do with your tongue that just makes me go all…" He stopped when those very lips he was extolling covered his.

He lifted his head slowly, his eyes caressing her face lovingly. They lingered on her now swollen lips. "Oh, yes I do so love your lips. There should be sonnets written extolling the beauty of Ginny Weasley's lips. Shrines should be erected throughout Britain so that yearly pilgrimages could be made to worship your lips…"

"Harry," she warned.

"Too much?"

She smiled. "Just a bit. But don't stop there. What else do you love, Potter?"

He gave her a wicked leer and wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Your bum."

"Harry!" She pretended to be scandalized.

"Well I do. I love the view from the front – it's so luscious." His eyes dropped down to her breasts admiringly and then up to her face again in time to notice the scarlet blush on her cheeks. He smiled at her cheekily; where he found the courage to be so bold he could not say. "But the view when you're walking away, ummm, ummm, ummm. Your hips sway to and fro and…"

"Harry!" Now she was really scandalized.

"Okay, okay. Sorry, got carried away there… but it is quite a sight to behold," he laughed, and then he suddenly frowned. "I caught Malfoy staring at your bum the other day and I almost hexed the revolting ferret into oblivion."

She laughed at that.

"Don't laugh, I got detention for breaking his nose. It was worth it though, I'd do it again."

"Now, Harry," she admonished half-heartedly.

"Well, I would!" he whined, then continued his litany of praise.

"You are beautiful Ginny, so beautiful. Yes, Parvati and Cho could be considered exotically pretty. But you have a natural vibrant beauty they don't have and never will have. But it's so much more than your face or figure. People flock to you." He frowned. "Boys want to be near you. They flirt with you outrageously, it drives me nutters. You don't even notice and that itself is so attractive. You can be womanly and soft and yet you can play Quidditch with the big boys and get all muddy and sweaty and you're still beautiful."

"You're a flame, Ginny and we're all just insignificant moths basking in your light and warmth. Yes, you're beautiful, but you're intelligent and witty and funny and mischievous." He chuckled. "It's as if all the best Weasley qualities are embodied in this small little package. Your as audacious and daring as Bill and Charlie. You can be as studious as Percy, not as pompous, thank Merlin. You have the mischievous nature of the twins and you're as loyal and stubborn as Ron. Hot tempered too. It must be the red hair?" She snorted, he laughed.

"You can be quick to anger, but you also have the most forgiving and generous heart of anyone I've ever known. You're strong Ginny, so strong, you're a force to be reckoned with…You're beautiful, Ginny, so beautiful. Do you believe me now?"

"Yes Harry, I believe you." He felt a warm wet tear fall unto the fabric of his shirt and the caress of her smile.

He smiled too, and he brought the hand that had been resting on her shoulder to play with a lock of her hair. He could almost feel her purr with pleasure.

"Harry, what do you want to do after Hogwarts?"

He frowned. "I don't know. I mean I've got a demented mad wizard after me. There may not be an 'after Hogwarts' to worry about."

She did not argue with him or berate him as Hermione might have; she was not the type to placate him with platitudes. She, more than anyone, knew what Voldemort was capable of and that his future was uncertain. He tried not to dwell too much on the possibility that he might not have a future, but Ginny gave him the desire to fight for a future with her. She gave him a reason to want to live and that was all he could really ask for.

"Okay, let's pretend Ol' Tommy boy is out of the picture. What do you want to do with the rest of your life? Play professional Quidditch, be an Unspeakable, an Auror… Minister of Magic… write your memoirs, what?"

He gathered his Gryffindor courage and mumbled, "I want to spend it with you."

"What? I didn't hear that Harry, say it again."

With more force, he said again, "I want to spend it with you."

"Huh?" she looked up at him, puzzled.

"My life, Ginny, I want to spend my life with you."

He watched as her expression went from confusion to surprise, to joy and then that fierce look of determination he loved so much, the one that told him he was going to like what she said or did to him… and he was right.

She kissed him with a fierce passion that left him breathless.

"I want that too Harry, so much." Then she sat up, bringing her knees up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her upraised knees.

"I need to tell you something, Harry, and I don't want you to feel as if you have to say it back and I don't want to scare you into running for the hills. Okay?"

"Okay…" he was worried now; what could she possibly want to convey that had her this anxious?

She was silent for a long time. Harry was beginning to panic and then suddenly…

"I…I love you Harry, I probably always have and I probably always will." She looked over her shoulder at him to see his stunned face. "Don't be mad at me Harry, please." Her doleful eyes pleaded with him.

The monster in his chest roared! She loved him, Ginny Weasley loved him. Him! Harry James Potter. He realized now why he was so afraid to tell her before. He as afraid she would not love him back. She may have fancied Michael and Dean – the gits – but she loved _him_.

He smiled and his monster purred. The smile became a smirk as his voice lowered in a wicked caress, "Come here, baby, lie down next to me."

She melted into his arms, all soft and lush. He kissed her for the first time as a man in love. He kissed her with the assurance of a man who knows that the woman in his arms loved him and that he loved her with intensity far beyond the boundaries and realms of what can be measured, weighed and touched. This was boundless, immeasurable, this was love in its purest form. It was irrevocable and unchanging, as constant as the stars in their courses.

He looked into her eyes brimming with unshed tears of unrestrained joy, a look of hopeful anticipation in the depths of her almond shaped, chocolate brown eyes. There was a radiant smile on the lips whose virtues he had extolled only moments before. His eyes lovingly caressed her beloved face and he looked into the depths of her soulful eyes. With a conviction far beyond his years and a fierce passion shining in his eyes, he boldly confessed, "I love you, Ginevra Weasley, and I will love you until the day I die."

His fate rested in her small delicate hands, and if love was the power he needed to defeat his enemies, then he was invincible indeed.

They spent the rest of that lazy spring afternoon in quiet whispers and sweet kisses and even sweeter caresses.

Oh yes, if anyone had asked Harry James Potter to describe his idea of heaven… this would be it


	5. Chapter 5 Fred

**Chapter Five - Gollywobbles and Mischief Managed – Fred's Tale**

"Woman on deck…drop 'em if ya got 'em, boys!" Ginny yelled at the threshold of the 7th year boy's dorm, her hand over her eyes.

"Oi, woman! We could have been undressing here!" Fred yelled back in mock horror.

"So? It's not like I haven't seen you in your drawers before, Gred." She smirked at him, hands still over her eyes. "Is it safe to enter the inner-sanctum? No girls' knickers hanging from the bed curtains or athletically muscular bare male bums for my licentious perusal?" she joked.

"No bare bums, muscular or otherwise, you brat. It's safe to drop the hand now." George gave a disgruntled reply to his sister's teasing.

Ginny dropped her hand and her eyes scanned the room, a large lascivious Cheshire cat-like grin on her face. She wiggled the fingers of the hand she recently had raised to her eyes. "Hiya boys, how they hangin'?"

"Ginny!" Fred and George gave an outraged cry.

She blinked her eyes owlishly in an exaggerated show of innocence. "Did I say something wrong? I've heard you boys say that at least a dozen times or more."

"Uh, no, just…no…don't…just don't say that again…okay?" Fred mumbled.

"Oh, okay," she replied in the most innocent voice she could muster, without seeming too obvious to the "Terrible Two".

Lee Jordan, who had been nonchalantly leaning on a bedpost, sauntered over to her, clad only in his pajama bottoms "Hey, Ginny, I must say you're looking delectably ravishing this evening." He took her hand and kissed her knuckles in a show of chivalrous adoration. He winked at her as she blushed prettily. "To what do we owe the honour of your presence in our lowly dorm?"

Ginny looked at Lee's bare muscular chest and then down to his pajama bottoms and smirked. How could she take him seriously when he wore pajamas with snitches on them? She crooked her finger at him and he lowered his head so that her mouth was mere inches from his ear.

From his vantage point next to his bed Fred saw a shiver course through Lee's back as Ginny whispered in his ear. He frowned, glancing over to George he saw the same identical frown on his twin's features as well. They watched as Lee lifted his head to smile down at her, walk toward the trunk at the foot of his bed, grab a T-shirt and trainers and then stop in front of Ginny again. "I'll be back in an hour, will that be enough time?" He smiled down at her indulgently. She nodded and smiled at him in gratitude.

Fred looked over to George and nodded, a grim look on his face. George followed Lee out of the dorm.

"George, where are you going? I need to speak to you and Fred about something important," she called out, but George kept right on walking.

"He'll be right back. He just needs to give Lee a little bit of advice," Fred answered for his twin.

She looked at Fred suspiciously then a dawning look of horror crossed over her face. "Oh no, he's not going to give Lee 'The Talk', is he?"

Fred lifted his hands and looked as his nails in a show of boredom and disinterest. "I'm sure I don't know what your talking about, Golly."

"Oh, don't act all innocent with me. If a cross-eyed boy was standing directly in front of me, you'd swear he was looking at me inappropriately and you'd give him 'The Talk'. And don't think I don't know about it either."

"You're off your rocker Ginevra. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know about 'The Talk', Frederick, it goes something like this: 'Hands off – not for the likes of you – too young – disembowelment with a dull spoon'. Does that ring any bells, brother dearest?"

He had the decency to look sheepish.

"And to Lee, of all people. Merlin's teeth! I've known him practically all my life. He's like the seventh Weasley brother, well, the eighth, if you count Harry. I'm like his baby sister," she berated.

An uncharacteristic frown flitted crossed Fred's features. "Let me enlighten you, Ickle Ginnykins. Lee is a hormonal seventeen-year old male and you, my dear sister, are a pretty, nubile, drool-worthy female, so believe me when I say, Lee does not see you as a 'baby' sister."

She looked at Fred in shock and then a slow smile spread across her face "Drool-worthy, huh?"

He smirked at her. "Fishing for more compliments, Golly?"

"Every chance I get." She smirked.

"So my dear Gollywobbles, tell your big brother Gred – what ails 'ya?" 

"I'd rather wait for Forge to get back, I don't want to have to start over when he gets here."

Fred's eyes flicked to the dorm room door. "Nah, he might be a while."

He sat on his bed and patted the space next to him. Ginny took a few running steps and hopped on beside him.

"Well, get on with it, my dear Gollywobbles. The meter's running here."

"I absolutely loathe that nickname," she groused

"Yes, I know. The more reason to use it…and you're stalling, Golly."

"Oh, all right, already." She paused for a moment, heaved a great sigh, straightened her back and squared her shoulders. "It's about Harry."

"Sorry love, I am not brewing you a love potion. It's for your own good, you know," he replied in his best imitation of Molly Weasley.

"Oh give it a rest already, for Merlin's sake. I was eleven years old. If I'm going to be paying for that bit of foolishness for the rest of my life, then you should be held accountable for your unhealthy infatuation with Celestina Warbeck when you were eight."

"I will have you know that is simply family lore perpetuated by Bill and Charlie's warped sense of humor," Fred replied haughtily.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh please. As if I don't know where you keep your stash of CW posters."

"What! How did you–" Fred quickly snapped his mouth shut in an effort to salvage any future plea of plausible deniability.

She gave him a wide innocent smile "There are some advantages to being the smallest Weasley you know. The three 'S's' of espionage brother dear – Swiftness, Stealth and Silence – all necessary qualities for survival in the Weasley clan," she finished with an impertinent tilt to her lips.

"Besides, I've been dating Michael Corner all year…"

"The wanker," he coughed.

"What!"

"What? What? I didn't say a thing."

"Watch it Gred, or I'll tell Angelina that you wear Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle boxer shorts."

"I do not!" he spluttered.

"No you don't, but she won't know that, will she?"

Fred stared at her in shocked awe and then a wide grin spread across his face "I worship the ground you walk on Golly. You make me proud."

"Yes, well having two prankster and blackmailers extraordinaire as role models does have its advantages."

"Oh stop it! You're making me blush," he gushed in a high-pitched voice. "All right now, my dear. Enough with the pronouncements of mutual admiration or we could be here all evening. Tell Papa Bear all about your Harry problem."

Ginny gave Fred a such look of utter loathing and contempt that it left him a bit startled. "It's that stupid bint, Umbridge…"

"Okay, what've I missed?" George sauntered into the room, a rather large grin on his face and what looked like the beginnings of a bruise on his left cheek.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head in disgust. "I'm not even going to ask. Come here George, let me see your cheek."

A self-satisfied look still plastered on his face, George walked over to the bed and stood in front of his sister. He bent at the waist so that they could be at eye level. Ginny gently took his face between her hands and moved his face from side to side to inspect the bruise from every angle, then she placed a gentle kiss on the bruise.

"Thank you for defending my honor," she whispered.

He smiled beatifically down at her. Then without warning, she smacked him across the head.

"Oi! Whadya do that for?" He rubbed his head, straightening from his bent position.

"Never mind that…come here." She took out her wand and pointed it at his face.

"Oh hell no, woman! Point that thing elsewhere." He cringed.

"I'm not going to hex you, you big baby. I'm going to heal that bruise before it turns black and blue." She rolled her eyes at him.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but after a moment, he leaned towards her again to await her ministrations.

She muttered a healing spell and the bruise slowly disappeared. "There, that should do it." She put her wand down and gently pressed her fingers to his cheek. "Does that hurt?"

"Nope, all better now! Thanks, Smidgette!"

"I hate to interrupt this very touching display of sibling affection, but can we please get down to discussing your Harry problem?" Fred interjected

"Oi, sis, we are not brewing a love potion, it's for your own good, you know," George practically mimicked Fred's earlier words verbatim.

"Oh let's not start that again, shall we?" Ginny flung herself unto the bed arms above her head, her legs bent at the knees and dangling over the side.

George gave Fred a puzzled look. "Never mind." Fred smiled widely. "I'll fill you in later."

George nodded, hopped on the bed and immediately emulated his sisters position on the bed. Fred quickly followed suit.

Fred took out his wand, pointed it at the canopy above them and mumbled an incantation, a white mist emitting from his wand tip to create a constellation of stars above his bed. George then proceeded to do the same and the sound of crickets could be heard on all sides of them.

"Just like home," Ginny whispered.

"Ginny, your Harry problem?" Fred prompted

"It's that stupid bint Umbridge!"

"You said that. What has she done, besides banning Harry and myself and my illustrious twin here, from Quidditch… for life.""Stupid bint." All three muttered together, turned to look at each other then burst out laughing.

"Well, beside that heinous travesty of justice, she's been making Harry's life a living hell. But you know Harry – he's not talking. He hasn't even told Ron or Hermione what's been going on during those detentions. For all we know she's been torturing him and he'd never let out a peep, probably out of some twisted sense of nobility." She lay there for a moment gazing at the stars in contemplation.

"Anyway, I went looking for him yesterday. I received Mum's Chocolate Easter Eggs and she sent some to Harry too, I had seen him at breakfast and he was looking rather depressed and I thought he could use some cheering up and you know how he loves chocolate. The package looked as if it had been through the wars. It had been rewrapped and had a stamp on it that read 'Inspected and Passed by Hogwarts High Inquisitor'."

"Stupid bint!" the Twins said on cue.

"He was staring off into space with the most dejected look on his face. I called his name several times before he even turned my way with a blank look on his face. He wondered why I wasn't at practice – oh, and what a disaster that was by the way. You should have seen poor Angelina, Fred, I thought she was going to cry right there on the pitch. Sloper somehow managed to knock himself unconscious with his own Beater's bat. We were absolute rubbish," she huffed out in exasperation.

Fred patted the hand that Ginny had resting on her stomach. "Give it some time, Golly. They'll get into the swing of things in no time…pardon the pun." He snorted at his own joke.

"Oh, don't feed me that rubbish! We're bloody awful and we're going to make complete fools of ourselves. Oh and poor Ron, he's so nervous he doesn't know which way is up. It's actually painful to watch him play. He wanted to quit but Angelina wouldn't let him."

"Anyway, enough of that. We'll sink or swim and no amount of blubbering about it is going to change that…"

"I gave Harry his package from Mum and… and… he looked as if he was about to cry. I'd never seen him looking so despondent, so hopeless. I thought maybe he was depressed about that thing with Cho, and told him he should try talking to her, but he cut me off. He said he didn't want to talk to Cho… he… he said he wanted to talk to Sirius."

She turned to her left. Fred could see her eyes were bright with tears she was fighting to keep them from brimming over. "Fred, do you remember when I was eight, you and George told me that I was getting a broom for Christmas?"

"Yeah, Golly I remember. That was the first time you used your bat-bogey hex, quite an honor I'm sure." He gave her a small, sad smile.

It had not been meant to be a cruel joke. He and George were eleven, just back from Hogwarts for the Christmas hols. They were full of piss and vinegar and thought it would be funny to string her along about Mum and Dad getting her a broom for Christmas. They did not even know until Hermione told them just recently that she had been stealing all her brothers' brooms from the shed since she was six. 

When Christmas morning came around and all the presents were opened and there was no broom among them, she turned hopeful eyes towards their Mum and asked about her broom. Their Mum had such a sad look on her face when she told her there would be no broom that Christmas. What happened next would be forever imprinted in Fred's mind as the most miserable moment of his young life. He and George were sniggering in the corner until Ginny turned her beautiful brown eyes at them, big wet tears streaming down her face, her bottom lip trembling in an effort to stop herself from out and out bawling in front of her brothers.

"How could you? I hate you, I hate you both!" She had pointed her hands at them and screamed a hex he and George had never heard before and then stormed out of the room in tears. They could hear her sobs as she ran up the stairs to her room, slamming the door shut and then the muffled sound of her crying her heart out.

They had never seen their father in such a rage. He towered over them, his voice booming in the room, "What did you boys do? What did you?!"

Their Mum had raced up the stairs after Ginny; they could hear their Mum's plaintive pleading with Ginny to open the door. She had placed such a strong locking spell on the door that she could not cancel it.

"We…we told her she was getting a broom for Christmas…we…we didn't think…"

"No, you didn't think! You boys never think the hurt your mischief can cause! Do you hear that?! That is your baby sister sobbing her heart out over your thoughtlessness. You will apologize to her. You will be de-gnoming the garden for the remainder of the Christmas holiday and you will have the sole duty of de-gnoming the garden during the summer holiday, and if and when I've calmed down enough you can rest assured that you will have more punishments that my imagination can cook up between now and the end of the Christmas hols. Do I make myself clear?!"

Their heads lowered they answer in unison. "Yes, Dad."

"Go to your rooms for the remainder of the day. I don't want to see you until I tell you to come down," he ordered.

It hadn't ended there either. They had received a dressing down from all three of their older brothers; even Ronnie had a go and they were so abjectly contrite that they sat and listened, heads downcast and silent.

What made it worse was that through all of the lectures and berating, they could still hear Ginny's sobs one floor up.

It had finally taken their Dad to calm Ginny down enough to open the door to her room. Later, they had pieced together from the rest of their brothers how Ginny had cried in her father's lap, big racking sobs shaking her tiny little frame. Fred always thought it was worse hearing the story secondhand, for the mental picture it left in his mind, he was sure, was even worse than having witnessed it himself.

They had stayed in their rooms that entire Christmas Day. Their dad had called them down when Christmas dinner was set but they had decided to stay in their rooms. The truth was they just did not have the heart to face their sister. Their Mum had brought them some sandwiches afterwards. She did not yell at them as they had expected. She had looked down at her twin sons and told them in a soft calm voice how disappointed she was in them, and how she hoped that this kind of pranking would never happen again. And then they did something they had not done since they were toddlers, they cried on their Mum's shoulder.

They lay for hours on their beds that night wide awake and staring at the ceiling of their room. Round about midnight they heard the hinges of their bedroom door creak and the petite figure of their sister stood hesitantly at the entrance a towel wrapped bundle in her hands.

She walked towards Fred's bed. "Budge over, Fred," she had whispered as she sat crossed legged at the foot of his bed. George had come over to sit next to his twin, their backs resting on the headboard for support.

"I…I brought you some Christmas biscuits. Mum helped me bake them." She unwrapped the bundle and offered them the biscuits.

"I'm sorry I hexed you, I…well I didn't mean to it was kind of an accident…well that's not really true, I wanted to hex you, but I didn't know I could actually do it."

"Don't be sorry, Gollywobbles. We…we deserved it." Fred still held the biscuit in his hand, afraid that if he took a bite he would choke on it.

"Why? I mean, why would you do that? I thought you liked me enough not to pull….well I never thought you would play such an bad joke on me like that?"

"Ginny-bean, we…we…" George swallowed hard, "we just didn't really think this one through, but please believe me…believe us… when we say…"

"We never meant to hurt you, Golly…we…" Fred said.

"…swear it…we were just…" George continued.

"..stupid…bloody wankers…." Fred added with a nod.

"…yeah, stupid wankers…" George agreed, "…and if we ever doing anything as stupid as this ever again…"

"…we give you permission to hex us…"

"..into oblivion…we'll even…"

"…stand still so you can't miss.

She sat contemplating them from her perch at the food of the bed and then suddenly she smiled.

"That sounds fair enough…Wee-Wizards Oath?" she asked, extending her hand out, palm down, fingers splayed.

They both grinned and said "Wee-Wizards Oath!" They extended their hands towards her own, fingertips touching and then proceeded to wiggle their fingers, furiously sealing the oath.

"Eat your biscuits, you prats." She grinned at them and then climbed up to the head of the bed lying down between them throwing her arms over their shoulders in companionable solidarity. Fred and George smiled at each other over her head. Ginny was happy and all was right with the world.

Suddenly Ginny began to giggle happily, then she chuckled and then she started laughing outright, it was the most contagious thing, her laughter. She laughed so long and hard that they couldn't help but laugh with her. They were so loud that the rest of the Weasley clan had assembled and were soon crowded in the small room, laughing with them.

Every time Ginny would come down from her laughter induced hysteria she would look at her brothers and burst out laughing again. That had gone on for quite a while until she had calmed down enough to kiss each of her brothers on the cheek. She climbed off of the bed and walked toward the group gathered round the entrance of the room.

"Mum, would you do the honors?" Their Mum had walked up to the twins' bed and conjured two mirrors, handing them to her sons with a goofy grin on her face the likes of which they had never seen. They glanced at each other, puzzled, and then turned to look at their reflections in the mirror to burst out laughing at what was reflected back.

Their devious, adorable, mischievous, baby sister had turned her prankster brothers into 'jackasses'.

"The fact that I told you Mum helped me make the biscuits should have tipped you off. That, and you forgot the Weasley motto."

"Stick it to them before they can stick it to you?" Fred queried.

"No not that one."

"Never leave the house with dirty boxers?" George supplied.

"That's Mum's fixation, not a motto, you dolts," their Mum spluttered in the background.

"Oh, come on now…Never get angry…"

"When you can get even!" Fred and George chorused, their laughter sounded more like braying.

Ginny's snort brought Fred back to the present.

"I never wanted anything more in my life the way I wanted that broom… until now. I want to give this to Harry. I want to give him his talk with Sirius and I want you two to help me."

Ginny turned fierce eyes towards her brothers. "I have never asked you for a single solitary thing in my life… but I am asking you, no I am begging you, to do this for me… for Harry. Please." She looked at them imploringly. "Please… he deserves this, he… he needs this right now, more than anything in the world. We've got each other to turn to… he… the only thing he has left of his parents is Sirius… please, please give this to him?"

They looked at each other, a volume of meaning in their short glance. "We'll do what ever you need Golly…" Fred began.

"…what do you need?" George finished.

She flung her arms around Fred's neck and rained kisses on his face as he protested through his laughter. "Oi, woman stop that!"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she gushed as she continued to rain fat, wet smacking kisses on his face.

"Oi, I want some of that!" George protested.

Ginny turned to George and gave him the same slobbery noisy kisses she had given his twin. "You are the bestest, sweetest, brothers in the whole wide world!"

"Okay Golly, calm down, what is it that you need exactly and when do you need it?" Fred peeled Ginny off his twin.

"Yes, right down to business," she said in a no nonsense manner, rubbing her hands together. "You know the only fireplace connected to the Floo Network is in Umbridge's office…"

"Stupid bint!" they chorused on cue.

"…Yes, well, the one thing that toad of a woman is, is that she's a creature of habit. She goes out every night at 9:00 o'clock sharp on rounds with her Inquisitorial Squad…"

"Bloody wankers!" they cut in.

"…most assuredly! Anyway, what we need is a major diversionary tactic, namely a Weasley prank of epic proportions. I know we can't buy him too much time, maybe fifteen to twenty minutes, but that's better than nothing at all right?"

"I think we can come up with something impressive enough. However, Ginny-bean, you will be nowhere near when this prank is being executed." Fred closed one eye and grimaced in anticipation of the explosion that was his sister's temper.

"What?! That's not fair. It's my idea! Why shouldn't I be involved?" she protested.

"I'll tell you why. In order for the 'prank of the century' to be successful we will need to be present at the scene of the crime. Loosely translated, my dear baby sister, we will be facing the very real and great possibility of expulsion…" Fred stated grimly.

"…yeah, and quite frankly, we couldn't give a rat's arse whether we actually graduate from 'Hoggy Warty Hogwarts'. You my dear, still have three more years before graduation," George added.

"…we only came back this year to please Mum anyway. Besides Mum would have our hides if you were exposed, incriminated or expelled by association."

Ginny had a dejected look on her face. Fred could tell that she had really wanted to be a part of giving this to Harry, but it would be their way or no way.

"I'm sorry… I never thought about the consequences of involving you. You… you don't have to do this, you shouldn't do this if it means getting expelled. Mum will be devastated…" Ginny's protest was interrupted by Fred's sudden outburst.

"Bugger that!" Fred yelled. "We're going to go out with a bang Ginny-bean…"

"…and we're going to stick it to Umbridge…"

"Stupid bint!" All three piped up.

"…in the process!"

Ginny smiled and looked at her brothers, mischief, pride and love shining in her eyes. 

"Wee-Wizards Oath?" Ginny asked, sticking out her hand.

"Wee-Wizards Oath!"

And with the wiggling of fingers the bargain was sealed.

They tapped the mullioned glass window of the fourth year girls' dorm. They could see Ginny pacing the room as they hovered outside the window on their brooms. She jumped, startled by the noise. Seeing their faces outside her dorm room window, she raced to the window to swing the window open.

"Is it done?" she asked in breathless excitement.

"Oh yeah…" Fred began.

"…it was bloody brilliant, wish you'd been there to see it!" George supplied.

"Umbridge…"

"Stupid bint!" They chortled gleefully.

"…didn't know what hit her." Fred laughed manically.

"Was Harry able to get to the Floo?"

"It was great, Ginny-bean, we were able to stretch it out for a whole twenty-five minutes. It was bloody brilliant!"

She grinned at them and then sobered. "Thank you boys… tha… thank you so much. I am sure this helped Harry loads. You were both brilliant and I am so proud of you." She motioned for them to come closer to the windowsill.

She first took George's face between her hands and kissed both his cheeks and then repeated the process with Fred.

"I am so proud to be your sister. I will never forget this as long as I live."

They smirked at her, identical looks on the faces. "Mischief Managed?"

"Oh yes, Mischief Managed!"


	6. Chapter 6 Ron

**Chapter Six - Ninny Has a Breakdown and Ron His Comeuppance**

"Just what the hell is your bloody problem?!" Ginny yelled at Ron, hands on hips, chest heaving, nostrils flared.

"Your wanker of a boyfriend's my bloody problem, Gin-Gin," he sneered in response.

"Yeah, well, what about him? He's only been your mate for the better part of six years and all of a sudden he's the devil incarnate!" she huffed in exasperation.

"Yeah, well, he wasn't dating my baby sister until now, was he? Putting his lips and hands where they shouldn't be, snogging in broom cupboards and holding hands in the halls!" he shouted.

"That's normal behavior for couples Ron, or didn't you know? Oh, wait a second, that's right, you've i never /i had a girlfriend, have you, ickle Ronniekins?" she smirked.

The common room had gone completely silent when the redheaded spitfire had climbed through the portrait hole, a look of rage on her pretty face. She had stormed over to the couch by the common room fireplace where her brother and his best mates had been sitting, talking quietly and furtively amongst themselves. She had marched over to her brother and blasted him.

It was like watching a dueling match – all heads in the room swiveling back and forth between the two Weasley combatants. They were toe to toe now and it did not seem as if the battle would be abating anytime soon.

At Ginny's last snide comment, the room gave a collective gasp. Ron's ears had passed red and gone puce in rage and embarrassment.

The 'wanker' in question put a placating hand on Ginny's shoulders.

"Ginny, maybe you should –" Dean was cut mid-sentence and took a step back when Ginny turned her blazing eyes on him.

Both siblings shouted. "Bugger off, Dean!"

Ginny turned back to her brother. "Don't you shout at him, you prat!" she yelled, completely oblivious to the fact that she had been guilty of shouting at Dean herself.

"I'll bloody well shout at the wanker if I bloody well want to, Ginevra!"

'You have no right to shout at anyone, Ronald. Just because you're my brother doesn't make you the boss of me!"

"'Course it does, you're my baby sister, that's my job."

"I may be your sister, but the last time I looked, I was definitely not a baby!" She had turned to address the males in the room. "Well, boys, do I look like a baby to you?" She had swept her hands in a gesture indicating her figure. She was clad in her school uniform sans robes and quite frankly, looked like any blokes' school girl fantasy in her pleated plaid skirt, knee socks, Mary-Janes and Oxford shirt with the Peter Pan collar. Not to mention the fact that she had filled out quite nicely in all the right places. All the boys in the room from the firsties to the seventh years shook their heads vigorously. Even Harry shook his head ever so slightly. One of the first years even had the audacity to give a piercing wolf whistle.

She grinned, curtsied prettily and said in a sweet voice, "Thank you, boys." 

She turned to glare at her brother, "See, Ron, I am not a baby, so stop treating me like one!"

"You may not be a baby but you're still my baby sister and it's my job to take care of you and look out for you!" he shouted, totally disgruntled at the turn in the argument.

She sneered at him derisively. "Really?" She arched a brow at him coolly, an unholy look upon her face. "Where were these tender feelings of concern during my first year, Ronald?"

Ron looked slightly uncomfortable. "What are you on about, Ginny?"

"I said, where were these oh so tender feelings of concern during my first year within these cold unforgiving walls? Hmm? Where was my big concerned brother then, because you certainly weren't walking me to class, or showing me around the castle, or welcoming me to bask in the warm glow of your oh so illustrious friends!"

She put her finger to her chin, tapping it as if trying to remember something of import. " Let me see, I seem to recall the phrases: 'Go away, Ginny', 'Can't you find your own friends, Ginny?', 'You're embarrassing me, Ginny', 'Stop making a fool of yourself, Ginny'… Does that sound at all familiar to you, Ronald, because to my ears, that certainly doesn't sound like something a concerned brother would say to his 'baby' sister!" 

It was hard for him to listen to the truth of her words, but when backed into a corner and embarrassed, he invariably resorted to hitting below the belt.

"Well, you were embarrassing me by making a complete fool of yourself over Harry! Is it any wonder I didn't want you around?" he shouted.

There was a collective gasp in the room and then Hermione's shout of, "Ronald! How could you?"

The silence was thick and uncomfortable, it hung over the room like a malevolent entity eagerly waiting to gorge itself on the pain and suffering of others for sustenance. Ginny stared at her brother, her countenance a mixture of hurt, disappointment and disgust.

"Ah, of course, how silly of me to have forgotten my place. What am I to you anyway in comparison to your best mates? By your own admission, I am simply an embarrassment which you need to remove from your presence. You know, I seem to remember before you attended this illustrious and renowned school of Witchcraft and Wizardry and met your oh so famous mates, that I used to be your best friend too." Her tone was low, precise, succinct and meant to be cutting. She allowed the words to sink in before continuing.

"You've forfeited whatever right you had to lecture and berate me for my imagined lack of propriety a long time ago Ronald. I recommend you keep your distance henceforth, dear brother, lest you become more intimately acquainted with bat-bogeys."

"Ginny, he didn't…" Hermione began, but stopped when Ginny turned her piercing eyes in her direction.

"Shut your gob, Hermione. This does not concern you."

"Don't talk to her that way. Don't take your hysterics out on her!"

"Ron, please shut your mouth for once." Hermione turned to Ginny, trying to placate her. "Ginny, he didn't mean what he said…"

"Oh please, Hermione, Ron may regret his outbursts from time to time and his lack of impulse control is quite staggering, but he never, ever says what he doesn't mean. I thought you of all people would know that, what with being his best mate and all."

"Ginny, it's not like you to be mean spirited. I know you're hurt. Let's go for a walk around the lake and we'll help you smooth things over with Ron," Hermione said through her hurt feelings.

"Why would I want to do that? And please do not talk to me in that patronizing tone Hermione_, it really pisses me off_!"

"I want to help you, Ginny. Ron's your brother and Harry and I are your friends we just want to help you…"

"We're not friends, Hermione. At best, we're acquaintances. To me, you're just two people who come to the Burrow over the summer and sit at our table eating my Mum's food, while you're treated as honorary Weasley children who then proceed to ignore me and treat me like the annoying little sister that I am."

Harry and Hermione sat in shocked silence, their faces a mixture of hurt and guilt.

"Ginny! Apologize!" Ron roared.

"What! Did I say anything that wasn't true? Not so pleasant when you're at the receiving end, is it?"

She paused and gave a great sigh, all the fight suddenly going out of her as she addressed her brother. "I really suggest you keep your distance, Ron, and keep your opinions about my personal life to yourself. You're my brother, we've been sorted into the same house and play on the same Quidditch team, all of which are things I have no control over, but I do have control over who I allow in my life and you and your friends are not among them."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the portrait hole, never once looking back.

Dean turned to Ron, a murderous look on his face. "You're a right foul git, you know that, Weasley!"

"Bugger off, Thomas!" Ron stormed over to Dean, itching for a fight to relieve the feelings of frustration and guilt that were warring inside him.

"You're a piece of work, Weasley. Half the boys in this room would give anything to have a sister like her, that is, if they weren't already infatuated with her, and you manage to treat her like she's something to discard like so much dirt beneath your feet. She's the sweetest, kindest, most generous girl I know and you completely take her for granted. What the hell is wrong with you?!" He stormed out of the portrait hole in search of his girlfriend.

Ron looked around the common room to see all those who had witnessed his argument with Ginny. The accusation in their eyes was like a great weight upon his shoulders, weighing them down heavily with remorse and shame. He was a right foul git, but how he was to go about fixing things with Ginny, he did not know.

"Sod off and mind your own business!" he shouted to the room in general, then stalked back over to his friends and threw himself on the couch in front of the fire.

He felt Hermione place a gentle hand his forearm. "She didn't mean it, Ron," she offered quietly, so that only he and Harry could hear her.

"Yes, she did. Well most of it, anyway. Not the last part. Thomas was right about that at least. She's got a kind generous heart, she'll forgive me eventually and pretend this never happened, that's just the way she is. Bloody hell, did you know she writes Percy these long novel length letters at least once a month?"

"Ron! Language!" Hermione admonished. "I didn't know she wrote Percy."

"Yeah, I didn't either. I caught her at it once. She tried to get me to talk about him, but I probably said something hurtful to her and stormed off. Percy's a sore subject at home too. Anyway, Ginny's famous for her letters. She writes everyone these long ten-page letters, front and back," Ron laughed.

"I don't remember you receiving letters from her when we were in first year?" Hermione queried.

Ron blushed. "Yeah, I did. I was just too embarrassed to read them in front of you, so I'd read them in private. I loved reading them. Ginny's letters are just like her, vibrant and full of life, they're funny and chatty. They used to make me homesick for the Burrow. She could make the most ordinary things seem funny in one of her letters. Everyone in the family looks forward to letters from Ginny," he smiled.

"Ron… I… I… never meant to make her feel left out. Maybe if we had befriended her, Voldemort would never have possessed her. We… _I_ should have been nicer to her. All the years I've known her, I never once asked her about the Chamber… and then we take her brother away from her on top of everything else," Harry groaned. "She must really hate me."

"She doesn't hate you, Harry. It's not in Ginny to hate anyone… well, with the exception of You-Know-Who. She's incapable of hatred, it's just not in her. As a matter of fact, she once told me that hatred and anger gave others too much power and that she would be damned if she ever gave anyone power over her."

They each turned to stare into the hypnotic flames of fire blazing in the hearth, lost in their own thoughts over the things they had heard and the things that were revealed about Ginny. She wasn't just Ron's little sister – she was a forthright, forceful individual who was not to be taken for granted. They each resolved in their own way to change that fact.

"Did you know when we were little, I used to call her Ninny. I couldn't make the 'G' sound and it kind of stuck." Ron gave a brief, sad smile.

"I've never heard you call her that," Hermione said.

"No, you wouldn't. I stopped calling her that the summer I came back from Hogwarts. I guess it was my attempt at being grown up and leaving behind childish things. What I never realized is that in the process, I also left Ginny behind." He let out a self-deprecating snort of derision.

"I… I never meant to hurt her, not intentionally anyway. I was trying to be grown up like my brothers. I didn't mean to cut her out of my life. It's true – we were best mates. We played together, got in trouble together, played pranks against the twins together, we even bathed together." He laughed. "That is until the day Ninny asked Mum where her dangly bits were. Mum almost had Kneazles."

They all laughed at the image Ron's words had painted. "I don't know how she can ever forgive me, I've been a complete wanker."

"She'll forgive you, Ron. Give her time to settle this in her head and her heart. She'll come round and when she does, tell her what you just told us. Don't let your Weasley pride get in the way either. She deserves to hear how much you regret the past and how much you love her, okay?" Hermione advised, her hand a warm comforting weight on his forearm.

"I will, Hermione . I promise." He placed his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze in gratitude.

Soon after, Hermione and Harry got up to sit at one of the corner tables to finish an essay for Professor McGonagall, but he suspected it was mostly to let him sit and ponder in solitude.

_Well_, he thought, _Ninny had herself quite a breakdown_. It was a long time coming. He laughed to himself when he thought of all the previous fights they had over the years; he never won any of those either. Well, he may not have won this fight but he certainly gained wisdom from the wounds inflicted in battle. He vowed to make things better with Ginny. He would strive to be the brother she deserved. Heck, she had five brothers in reserve if he failed miserably. Well, four actually. Percy did not really count as a brother anymore.

Yes, Ninny had a breakdown and Ron his comeuppance.

AN: There will be a reconciliation of sorts in a later chapter. I didn't want to have it here, because in a way I wanted Ron to stew in the proverbial juices of the mess he had created of his relationship with Ginny. Make no mistake – they love each other to pieces, but as we can all attest, sibling relations are wrought with angst and drama.


	7. Chapter 7 Harry

**Chapter Seven – Interlude - Of Epithets and Endearments  
**  
"You know, Ginny, I've noticed that your brothers hardly ever call you by your name. I've never met a person with so many nicknames before. It's kind of cute."

"Yeah, well, not so cute when you're the recipient of the wide range and inventive variety of the names my dear brothers choose to call me." Harry felt a puff of air against his neck, as she blew out a breath in exasperation. "And they have absolutely no compunction about using them at the most inopportune moments. From the proud to the profane, that's my family. You know my Da once introduced me to the Minister of Magic as 'his little princess'?" Harry noticed her tone was one of vexation, but the wide smile he could feel against his skin told him a different story altogether.

They were sitting in what had quickly become their favorite wing-back chair in front of the hearth in the common room. Well, Harry was sitting in the chair and Ginny was snuggled in his lap. Harry had turned the chair to face the fireplace and angled it to give them a bit of privacy. His hands were buried in her glorious mane of hair, something they both loved. 

Ginny's hair drew him as a moth is drawn to a flame. He was addicted to the sensation of what he thought raw silk must feel like, as it slipped through his fingers in a cascade of fire and the scent of flowers emanating from it would float in the air and permeate his senses. She engaged each of his senses in ways he had never even known he had been missing in his life and he knew inherently that she alone could slake his hunger for the need to feel, taste, and touch. He hungered for these things, as a man must hunger for sustenance. 

He had been deprived all his life of the senses that others took for granted. Where others knew loving embraces, he knew the rejection of being pushed away. Where others felt the pleasure of a simple touch, he was well versed in the slap of a hand or the connection of fist to flesh. Where others associated scents to happy memories, to their mother's perfume or the distinctive scent of her skin, his first memory was of a dank, stale musty cupboard. While others lived in the light, he lived in a darkened world tucked away in a broom cupboard like a dirty secret that must be kept hidden away.

Then into this dreary world devoid of sight, sound and touch, entered his Ginny. She was his reward for the deprivation that had been his previous life. She filled his senses like no other and he would gladly dedicate his life to exploring each and every one. To feast on her with his eyes, to revel in her touches and caresses, to drown in her scent, to taste her with his lips, to hear her whispered voice against his ear. She was his recompense for an existence in the absence of color and light.

In her presence, he was always compelled to touch her in some small way, or as was his want to have her wrapped around him like a blanket, warm, comforting and oh so pliable. Ginny was curled onto his side, her legs over the arm of the chair. Harry could feel her nose and lips on the skin of his neck and the puffs of air from her breathing, her lips a butterfly wings' caress as she spoke.

She had told him moments before that she needed to start working on her Potions essay for Snape, but he had convinced her to sit with him before the fire by promising to help her with the essay later. She had acquiesced to his cajoling and the aid of what she called 'The Look'. Truth to tell, he'd been utilizing 'The Look' quite a bit lately. She said it consisted of this wide-eyed puppy dog look, followed by the blinking of his eyes three or four times in rapid succession…now how could she refuse that?

They had been sitting in companionable silence when he had struck up the conversation about her nicknames.

"I mean, it is rather extensive, isn't it? I've heard the twins call you Golly and Gollywobbles…"

"That's a play on my Mum's name since my middle name is Molly," Harry could feel her shudder against his neck. "And Da's nickname for Mum is Mollywobbles, see. Pretty pathetic isn't it?" she giggled.

"Well, not really. Like I said, I think it's cute. They also call you Ginny-bean…"

"…That's a play on Jelly-bean"

"…And Smidgette…"

"…That's George, he calls me Smidgette, because he says I'm too small to be just a smidgen…"

"…Little-Bit…"

"…That's Bill and that's self explanatory…"

"…Gin-bug, I like that one…"

"…Yeah, that's Charlie's; that one's my favorite too…"

"…I thought you didn't like the nicknames?" he looked down at her.

She in turn looked up at him, a sheepish smile on her face. "Well, I don't and I do," she admitted.

"How's that?"

'Well it can be embarrassing, I don't like that so much…but it also sets me apart from the rest of the brood. I'm the only one my family uses endearments with. It's affectionate, I like that…but it's also too girly, which I don't like. In a house full of boys, being too girly sets you up for a bout of unrelenting teasing."

"Oh, but I really, really like your girly side. I like your right side," He kissed her right cheek, " and your left side," He kissed her left cheek, " your top side," He kissed her forehead, then placed his forehead against her own, smiling down at her, "but I really love your bottom side."

"You're not kissing that, Harry!" He chuckled. "What is it with you and your fixation with my bum?" She curled back into her position, kissing his neck.

"But it's such a delectable bum, Ginny, I can't help it." 

"You're hopeless," she complained.

Suddenly, "Hey Ginny, I want a nickname for you too!"

"I don't know…" He could feel her frown against his neck.

"Oh come on, your brothers all have one, I want one too," he whined and then for good measure he gave her 'The Look'.

"Oh stop it with the eyes already, that's an unfair advantage…"

"Did it work?"

"Yes, yes… Alright you can have a nickname. Just one though, and I have final approval and you are never, ever to use it in front of my brothers… Deal?"

"Deal! Okay let's see…Short-Stuff?"

"Lacks imagination, don't you think?"

"Itsy?"

"No!"

"Bitsy?"

"No!"

"Teensy?

"Uh…let me think?…No!"

"Weensy?"

"Harry, enough with the allusions to my height impediment. You're going to give me a complex."

"Okay, okay let me see…I know how about Red?"

"Absolutely not! Mum would have baby Kneazles, sounds like something you'd call a scarlet woman in a brothel."

"But I really like that one." He tried 'The Look'

"That's not going to work this time Potter," she said, gazing at him sternly.

He laughed. "It was worth a try… okay, let's see…" A slow smile stole across his face and then it turned into a wicked little grin. "You'll like this one, Gin. How about… Peaches?"

"Peaches?" She was quiet for a moment, her nose wrinkled in thought. "Um, Harry, I'm not sure I understand that one."

"Well now Miss Weasley, you know how much I love your bum, don't you?" She had a confused look on her face and then her eyes went wide in recognition…any second now…three…two…one…wait for it…

"Oh no you don't, Potter!" Blast Off!

"If you think I am going let you use the name of a fruit that reminds you of my bum, you've had one too many Bludgers to the head. I absolutely, categorically, forbid you to mmmff…" Harry had learned rather quickly that it was in his best interest to stop Ginny mid-rant before she got a full head of steam or he'd be in for a long and loud tirade, so he always utilized the only weapon in his arsenal…he snogged her senseless.

He lifted his head slightly, his lips still touching hers. "I love it when you're feisty."

He was nibbling softly on her bottom lip when he felt her smile against his own, "That's another unfair advantage you have over me, Potter," she sighed against his mouth.

His lips still lingered on hers. "That's two to your hundred, Gin." 

She sighed deeply, turning her head away and putting a little distance between them. "Gin?" he questioned, he was confused by her withdrawal. What could have turned their playful banter of only moments before into this feeling of uncomfortable distance?

"You have no idea the power you wield over me, do you Harry?" She turned her head to stare into his eyes. Harry felt as if she was looking into his very soul, her gaze was so intense. She lifted her hand to his cheek in a soft caress as she bared her soul.

"For so long, my emotions were tied up in you. When I was younger, the slightest scrap of attention or acknowledgement on your part would feed my fantasies for weeks. Bugger all…it's so hard to put this into words, to make you understand…" She paused, attempting to put her thoughts in order, to bring forth the words that would explain that which she felt was unexplainable.

"Ginny, I–" Harry began.

"Please Harry, let me…let me say this, I…I may not have the courage again."

He gazed into her eyes, eyes that were unveiled and uncensored in their supplication for his indulgence. He understood in that moment that she wanted to lay herself bare before him, for him to accept or reject her essence, her pain, her strength, her weakness and her power. It humbled him.

"I don't blame you for ignoring me for all those years, Harry, I truly don't. I want…no, I need you to see me, Harry. I need to put into words..." She stopped, almost hesitant to continue. "I need to excise these feelings and then I can bury them for good. Please, Harry."

He swallowed hard, afraid to speak for fear of letting loose his own emotions, so he dipped his head in acknowledgement. She placed a tender kiss of gratitude on his lips.

"It was so humiliating and frustrating not to be able to be myself in your presence. I'm pretty strong-willed and forceful. I'd never been shy or unassuming, but it was like I wasn't in my own skin when I was around you, I was someone else entirely. I was this weak, introverted, inarticulate, vulnerable little wallflower and I hated it."

"You have no idea the amount of teasing I suffered because of it. Now, I love my brothers and for the most part they treat me with a fair amount of deference, but when it comes to teasing and pranking, I am fair game just like the rest of them. Usually I don't mind, because I give as good as I get. Believe me, my brothers have a healthy respect for my hexing abilities. But you, you were my weakness and they knew it and exploited it. But that was just part and parcel to growing up a Weasley, you get thick-skinned pretty quickly if you wanted to survive."

"To let my life revolve around your happiness just made me angry with myself for having feelings for a boy who would never see me as anything but the unremarkable Weasley. Watching you in your fifth year was so hard because even though I was with Michael, I couldn't help but worry about you. Michael was really good for me he made me see things in myself I had forgotten. He made me feel pretty and wanted and smart and forceful and capable – well, he wasn't too chuffed about the forceful and capable – but that was his own fault really. His attention brought me out of my shell and he could just bugger off if he didn't like the real me because I wasn't going back to being the shy wallflower he met at the Yule Ball."

She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts and courage. "During Christmas break when Da was in St. Mungo's and we thought we'd almost lost him, that was such a difficult time for me, for my family. If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm a bit of a Daddy's girl." She giggled a bit and Harry could not help but chuckle also. He nodded his head to acknowledge the truth in her words.

"My Daddy is a great man, Harry. Some men pay lip service to doing what is right and just and moral, my Da lives it. People underestimate him because he is quiet and unassuming, but those who really know him respect him and seek his counsel. He's very well respected amongst his peers. It's only the Malfoys of the world that look down their noses it him, as if Galleons and the purity of blood were the true measure of a man. My family would be devastated if we lost Da. He's the heart and soul of our family."

While he too, had great regard for Arthur Weasley, and understood the devastation his loss would bring to his family and those whose lives he touched so greatly, Harry thought that the true heart and soul of the Weasley family was sitting right here with him in the circle of his arms. 

"I was so worried about my Da, and you were acting strangely, hiding from everyone, short tempered and withdrawn. It was already a bit too much to deal with, and then Hermione confronted you. I didn't think there had been an emotion I hadn't explored where you were concerned, but anger and resentment was never one of them. In that moment, I couldn't have given a Kneazle's arse that you were angry and feeling cornered, my Da was in St. Mungo's and for once I felt it wasn't about you. When I realized that fear, your fear of having been possessed by Tom, was the driving force behind your behavior, I was well and truly incensed. There I sat, the one person who could give you the answer to what had been tormenting you and you never once thought to ask. Even more devastating was the knowledge that you had forgotten it entirely…it…it broke my heart."

"Ginny, please…" Harry begged her. He could feel his heart tighten painfully in his chest; he wanted the words to stop. He wanted the knowledge that he had been the cause of her pain to be erased from her memory, to be wiped clean, to be made new by the love he felt for her now. He wanted her to know that she now held in her hands the power to wound him so deeply, so completely.

"No, please Harry, please let me finish."

"It destroyed me, Harry, but it also renewed me. I was deconstructed to the most fundamental level, death and rebirth. It was as if a muted veil had been lifted from my eyes and I could see clearly for the first time. I saw you with all your faults and all your virtues and while this heart still beat only for you, I resolved that I would channel that love into an abiding friendship. I resolved to be your friend."

"I saw myself for the first time, naked and vulnerable to the truth and the insecurities that were of my own making. All those years, Harry, I wanted you to see me, but you would have seen a mere shadow. I don't regret the paths we took that brought us to this moment, Harry. Every heartache and disappointment brought me here to you and this moment."

"I need you to understand Harry, I loved you from the moment I met you. I think...I think I loved you before I even knew you, Harry, or at least the idea of you. I know that to the outside world, to my parents, to my brothers, it was a silly crush –maybe it was I don't know that for sure – but it felt real and powerful to me even then. It was so powerful that it overwhelmed me, Harry. My love for you is my strength and my weakness, and it consumes me. In my immaturity I wouldn't have been able to accept your love and all that it entailed."

"Oh Merlin, Ginny. I don't want my love…your love for me to be a burden…"

"It's not, Harry, not anymore. I would give all that I am to you, because you do not ask it of me. You would give me all of yourself and never ask for anything in return and that is precious to me. It does not diminish me to give myself over to you so completely, it makes me whole.

"You don't ask for commitment, but we all gladly give it. You don't ask others to follow you, but if you led us into the very fires of hell we would follow without question. You do not require loyalty, but we would gladly lay down our lives for you…I would give my life for you."

"I don't want that Gin, I want no part of it!" was his anguished cry. "I never asked for any of those things. I don't want to lead others into battle and certain death, I never asked for that kind of sacrifice, not from others, and especially not from you. I – I couldn't bear it if something happened to you. It would destroy me… I couldn't… I wouldn't survive if you were to leave me here alone Gin… don't…don't leave me here alone."

He lay his head to her breast, drawing comfort from the sound of her heartbeat against his ear. He took deep breaths in an effort to suppress the tears and the anguished cry that threatened to spill from his mouth. She stroked his hair soothingly, lovingly.

"Don't you see, love, it's because you do not ask it of us. You do not ask it of me. I can't make you any promises Harry, I don't know what the future holds for me, for us. Tom… this war… makes everything so uncertain. I know… I fear a time will come when you will make some hard decisions, decisions that will affect me… affect us. When that time comes, please don't ask me to take the path that is safe and easy, don't ask me to go against what I know must be done, don't ask me to be what I am not. I can't go back to being that little girl, Harry."

"No Gin! I would never ask that of you." Harry lifted his head, raking his fingers through her hair, his palms against her cheek. "I would never ask you to." She gave him a sad little smile. "I wouldn't do that to you. Do you believe me?"

"I believe that you believe it Harry," was her enigmatic response. It bothered him that she would not accept what he knew to be true. But more importantly now, he wanted her absolution for his sin of neglect and just as she had, he wanted to lay himself bare before her, honest open, vulnerable. He owed her that much.

"Ginny, I am sorry. I never meant to hurt you, I never meant to ignore you or belittle you…I never meant to take Ron away from you."

She looked at him, puzzled and then her argument with Ron from earlier in the year came back to roost.

"Oh Merlin, Harry, I don't blame you for that. That was Ron's apology to make, not yours and we've already reconciled. He is a great prat, but he's my brother and I love him. I won't say I wasn't hurt, because I was, but he's making an effort now and we may not be best mates as we once were, but we're getting there little by little." Her eyes suddenly became wide and distressed.

"Oh Harry, I said some awful things to you and Hermione! I didn't mean them! I was so hurt by Ron's outburst and I never apologized to you or her for the things I said that day. I'm so sorry!"

"Don't apologize Gin, we were acquaintances, we did treat you like a non-entity…"

"I was partially to blame for that, Harry. I i was /i a non-entity, a clumsy, shy one at that." Then she smiled "But I've been butterdish-free for over four years now. It does wonders for one's self esteem," she joked.

"Oh Ginny, I didn't appreciate it at the time, but I cherish each and every one of those memories that at one time or another made you feel embarrassed. Did you know I still have that Valentine's and Get Well card you gave me somewhere in my trunk?"

"That's because you're a bit of a pack-rat Harry," she smirked at him.

He blushed in embarrassment. "Yes, well, that is true. I never received gifts before I came to Hogwarts, so I like to keep them," he told her a bit defensively.

"I know you even had these awful socks…" She stopped suddenly and flushed bright pink.

"You nicked them, didn't you!" Harry chortled with laughter when he saw her blush an even deeper shade of red.

She looked at him through her lashes coquettishly. "You don't mind do you, Harry?"

He smiled at her, how could he refuse her when she looked so adorable. "No, I don't mind." Then it dawned on him "Hey, you nicked my Gryffindor Seeker shirt, didn't you!" She nodded her head reluctantly, worrying her bottom lip,

"And the first jumper your mum gave me for Christmas too!" he accused.

She tried to cajole her way out of her penchant for liberating clothes from her brothers and now it seemed, her boyfriend as well. "Oh, well the jumper was too small for you anyway and I like to sleep in your shirt, it smells of you."

Harry opened his mouth to scold her and snapped it shut. The image of Ginny sleeping in his Quidditch shirt sent his fantasies a flutter. "Sleep in it?" he croaked. She nodded her head again. "It smells like me?"

"Yes, you're not mad at me are you?" she entreated.

"No, Baby, I'm not mad." A tender smile crossed his lips and then he kissed her.

His mouth played masterfully against hers, she had given him this power. This confidence, this boldness he had not known he possessed until her. She had told him that his love overwhelmed her, consumed her. But didn't she know that she held the power of his happiness in her small little hands? She would be his love, his life, his family, his world, his religion.

"Oh Harry." She melted into his embrace, his endearment played across her skin like a caress. "You don't need a nickname when you already have an endearment. say it again, love," she beseeched him.

How had he lived before Ginny? It was as if he had been sleep walking all his life only to awaken to this vibrant, joyful creature that held joy in her open hand, a gift she willingly shared with all those she loved. "Oh, Baby, I love you so much."

"I love you too. Now shut up and kiss me."

_Later.__Much, much later…_

"Baby?"

"Hmmm?" she answered absently a contented smile on her swollen, pouty lips.

"I'm still calling you Peaches."


	8. Chapter 8 Percy

**Chapter Eight - The Unforgiven**

_Dearest Git,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Well, no, actually, it is my deepest desire that this letter finds you squirming in your seat with putrid, pus-infested boils the size of Galleons on your Weasley-freckled arse. What possessed you to write such a letter to Ron? What did you hope to accomplish? If your goal was to alienate your youngest brother, then let me assure you that you were successful in your objective. Did you aspire to advise your brother on the proper behavior of an obsequious, sycophantic Ministry employee? Is this your 10-year plan for climbing the Ministry ladder - by ingratiating yourself to sadistic, ill-informed, power-hungry maggots, such as Umbridge and Fudge?_

_For this, you have forsaken your family for strangers who care not a whit for you and only for what you can lay at the foot of the altar of their greed. What has become of you Percy? Has your ambition blinded you to the truth? Will you place your faith in those who would sacrifice you on this same altar in order to save their own precious hides? _

_You count yourself lucky to have escaped the stigma of association with such people as Dumbledore and the cause he is leading against Voldemort, and make no mistake Percy, he has returned, do not delude yourself! You're happy that you have not allowed family ties to blind you to the "misguided nature of our parents' beliefs and actions". What actions and beliefs would those be Percy? That our family fights for the light and what is right? What are you fighting for, you selfish, self-centered, arrogant prat?_

_It is my hope, Percy, that you attain that which you seek, may you be given the power and prestige you feel you so richly deserve. Think on this when you reach this elevated position. With whom will you rejoice? Who will be standing at your side? More likely than not, you will find another such as yourself. __Someone who is willing to sacrifice his loved ones for power and prestige.__ May it be cold comfort for __you._

_I would not wait upon receipt of the apology you feel is owed to you. It is my hope that when you come to the realization that the error is yours and that of your vaunted associates. And that you are as ready to give the same apology you were so ready and willing to receive._

_Your__ Sister,_

_Ginevra_

_Percy,_

_I am so deeply disappointed in you. I am sure that you were made aware that during the Christmas hols, Father was in St. Mungo's. Yet you did not think it of sufficient import to visit your father while he convalesced. Where is your compassion? Where is your heart? Would you not visit a mere colleague if you'd heard that they were ill, yet you do not afford the same consideration for the father that raised you? _

_Percy, where is the brother I grew up with? Where is the boy I knew? I do not know the man you have become and it shames me to say I do not wish to know him, if he has turned into the heartless man that would ignore his family during its time of need._

_I know in time I will be able to forgive you this action, but at the moment I cannot entertain the notion._

_Be well._

_Ginevra_

_Dearest Weatherby,_

_I've enclosed for your perusal my end-of-term progress report. As can be ascertained by my scores, I am top in most all of my classes and I am well on my way to following in your illustrious footsteps and attaining the much lauded O.W.L's in twelve (yes, Dearest Weatherby, count 'em, twelve) subjects. You would be proud. Of course, I will probably never know since you've never answered any of my past correspondence._

_You made Mum cry yesterday when she received the jumper she made for you by return owl. I was going to reprimand you for it, but I just don't have the energy. One day you will have to atone for the choices you have made, Percy. I will let your own conscience be your judge and jury. _

_I hope that you will not be alone this Christmas. Are you still dating Penelope? I hope so, I don't want you to be alone, and I hope you are at least spending Christmas with someone you care for._

_Write soon, brother._

_Your sister_

_Ginevra_

_Dearest Prat,_

_Well, I didn't make Prefect, sorry to disappoint. That might have had something to do with my little end of year field trip to the DOM. Although I think it has more to do with the fact that I am more like the Twins than even I would like to admit, and our illustrious Hogwarts staff is well aware of my penchant for rule breaking and my subtle yet ingenious pranking prowess to both student body and staff alike._

_Think of it this way Perce, I will be able to concentrate on my O.W.L's and that much coveted goal of twelve Outstanding marks. _

_I don't recall if I wrote you about my playing Seeker last term, I caught the Snitch against Cho Chang of Ravenclaw (a veteran Seeker no less), in only my second game of the season, to win the Quidditch Cup. While I know you do not put as much stock in Quidditch as you put to academics, I hope this news gives you at least a twinge of pride in your baby sister's accomplishments._

_I plan on trying out for Chaser now that there is a position available on the team, what with Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet having graduated. Harry's been made Captain. I am so pleased for him! He didn't make a big fuss, but I could tell he was terribly pleased by the appointment._

_Just to keep you in the loop of your baby sister's love life, I'm dating a boy in Ron's year, Dean Thomas. You may or may not remember him; he was a first year during your fifth year. Just to put things into perspective for you I've only told Charlie, and Ron will find out soon enough, so you should feel privileged that I've chosen to share this auspicious news with my dear older brother. Well, that and the fact that I won't be receiving a reply lecturing me on the fact that I am too young to be dating might have something to do with it._

_I miss you Perce. Write soon dear brother._

_Your Sister,_

_Ginevra_

_Dearest Brother,_

_I write these letters and send them into the void. Why won't you write, my Percy? What have I done to garner your resentment? Is it because I am a Weasley and therefore on principle alone, you refuse to acknowledge that we have blood ties that bind us? Is it your pride that does not allow you to see beyond what is true and right? Even Fudge had no choice but to acknowledge his error and admit that Voldemort had returned after the debacle at the DOM, and in so doing, your arguments – or rather your reasons – for having left your home are no longer viable. _

_Is it truly your pride that keeps you from knocking on the door of your childhood home and seeking forgiveness for your transgressions? Pride goeth before the fall, brother; meditate on this proverb, for your pride will only take you so far. Perhaps it has served you well in deluding yourself into believing that your family and your father in particular, has been a hindrance to your advancement in the Ministry. _

_Did you forget that our home, humble in stature yet honorable in its occupants, has had the honor of having men of great consequence pass through its threshold? Albus Dumbledore, indisputably the greatest wizard of our age, has sat at our table for supper. Ministry department heads have sought our father's counsel in the kitchen of this ramshackle home you are so ashamed of. Famous Aurors have called our 'un-ambitious' father, friend._

_Explain to me what is __unexplainable,__ give me a reason to understand what is inexcusable. Percy, do not wait to find reconciliation with your family __– you__ do not know what the future holds, or who will survive this war. Can you live with yourself if the least of us were to be lost to this cause and you had thrown aside the opportunity to speak your love one last time? I pray that you do not find out._

_Do you not know, dearest brother, that upon your return we will kill the fatted calf in honor of the prodigal son's __return.__ All will be forgiven, your inheritance returned, the angels in heaven will rejoice. __Do not fear rejection__ or reprisal, we await you with open arms. _

_Write soon dearest brother._

_Your__ Sister,_

_Ginevra_

_Dearest Pillock,_

_I was going to send you a Howler, but decided you weren't worth the energy it would expend. You bring Scrimgeour into our home at Christmas on the pretext of visiting your family, only to have that twice damned idiot seek an interview with Harry._

_I don't know who's the bigger arse – you or him. Merlin, Percy, can you dig your grave any deeper? I hope you are happy with the results of your actions. May they further your lofty aspirations as they continue to alienate your __family._

_Well done brother!_

_Ginevra _

_Dearest Percy,_

_I know this news will most likely bring you grief, but as for me, it brings me nothing but happiness. Harry and I are officially dating, is that not wonderful? Do not frown so, Percy, pouting does not become you. Be happy for me, set aside your petty differences for a moment and share in your dear sister's joy. I am still you dear sister, am I not? It's rather hard to tell since I have not received any reply from my many previous correspondences. But never mind that, I did not want this letter to be another reprimand for your reprehensible behavior._

_I am happy, Percy – giddy – actually. He loves me, he told me so and I love him in return. I know what you're thinking and you can wipe that thought clear out of your head. I am not too young to know what love is. I know that it is difficult for you and the rest of the clan to acknowledge that I am no longer a child, and think that at the tender age of only fifteen, I am incapable of distinguishing feelings of infatuation from a deeper feeling of love, but I assure you that I am mature beyond my years – the Chamber made certain of that._

_I've grown so much since last you set eyes upon me Percy. And not just physically. Although my stature has had very little development, I can attest to the fact that I've grown in all the right places. Stop sputtering, Percy. I'll have you know that Harry thinks I've grown into quite a beauty, and although I honestly don't see it, I certainly will not be the one to disavow him of his assertions. Let me also assure you, Percy, that my life experiences have given me wisdom well beyond my physical age. Therefore I know of what I speak when I say I love him. _

_Percy, you are so wrong about him. It is my hope that the day will come when you can see him for the wonderful, kind-hearted, selfless young man that he is. Besides, he may one day be your brother-in-__law,__ therefore it behooves you to begin to see him in a kinder light._

_I miss you brother, write soon._

_Your__ Sister,_

_Ginevra_

_Dear Percival,_

_He's dead. Does this news bring you satisfaction? Murdered by a man he gave his trust to. Senile, foolish old man to have faith in the goodness of others. The funeral was held on the grounds at Hogwarts. _

_Harry was there to witness his betrayal. Death Eaters infiltrated our school. We fought on the stairwell to the parapet. Your brother Bill was injured in the struggle, we now fear for his future. _

_What will become of us without him? What happens now? What does our future hold? Who is to lead us? Who will stop Voldemort?   
_

_And Harry, my dearest noble Harry, has broken things off with me. __To protect me and keep me safe from Voldemort.__ I knew this day would come, but I was hoping it would be in the distant future. We had just a few short weeks together and now for my protection and his peace of mind, we can longer be together. I know his reasoning and I understand his motivation, but he is wrong. He needs me – my love will sustain him through this struggle –but I must allow him to do what he feels to be right even though it brings us both __pain__ in the separation._

_Be careful dear brother, especially with whom you choose to align yourself. Those in power have done much __to__ inadvertently aid Voldemort's cause. Do not allow yourself to become a pawn._

_Be safe, be well._

_Your__ Sister_

_Ginevra_

_Dearest Brother,_

_I have returned to Hogwarts for my sixth year and for the first time since my tenure in these hallowed halls, it is without another Weasley in attendance. I cannot even begin to explain how surreal it was to attend a welcoming feast without our beloved Headmaster. Quite frankly, I am surprised that Hogwarts was allowed to reopen after the battle on the parapets last June. Many students have not returned; all houses have been affected, but none as much as Slytherin. Only a handful of the older students returned and three out of the twelve first years were sorted into that notorious house. Gryffindor did not fare much better – a few of those I consider friends returned: the Creevey brothers, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan and Neville Longbottom. None of the seventh year girls returned, and only a handful of students from the years below me. Yet none of these absences were felt as much as that of Harry's, Ron's and Hermione's._

_As you know – what with my having attained the twelve __O.W.L's__ and all – I have been striving diligently, and so I can pretty much take any class I so desire in order to further my chosen field of profession in my N.E.W.T study year. For the moment I've decided to drop two of the N.E.W.T. level classes to attend to an apprenticeship of sorts with Madam Pomfrey. While this is a bit unorthodox, Headmistress McGonagall has made an allowance for it. It would appear that my Weasley powers of persuasion were at their best the day I made the request. I feel that it is important that I at least have a rudimentary knowledge of the healing arts in preparation for what is to come. I have no illusion regarding the safety of Hogwarts. Truth be told, that belief was shattered in my first year, but I fear that the war and at least one of its battles will be fought on our grounds. Hogwarts represents a bastion for the light, what better target for Voldemort and his sycophantic minions to destroy in order to bring the Wizarding world to its knees?_

_Along with my Healer lessons, Mad Eye has been called upon to teach a select few students – of which I am among them – advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts. Merlin __bless__ the paranoid old coot. I've been called upon to assist him in training and together we've put together a healing corps of students, among which are Neville and Luna. It gives me a bit of hope that we will not be caught unprepared for what is to come. That while we may be outnumbered and outclassed by older and far better experienced fighters in the Dark Arts, we will not go down without a fight. We will give old Tom a fight to remember._

_Regular activities have resumed through out the castle. I was made Quidditch Captain – a bittersweet appointment that. To be made Captain due to Harry's absence brings me no joy, I assure you. You will be happy to know I was made Prefect. I tried to decline the honor, but McGonagall convinced me that I was a leader among my peers and that in these __times,__ I would be called up on by others to do just that. _

_I feel as if my life has taken on the characteristics of a Greek tragedy. I know now how Penelope must have felt waiting for Ulysses to return from the Trojan wars. Merlin, I hope I don't have to wait ten years for this war to run its course, and another twenty to wait for my own victorious hero to return, because of the cruel fickle favor of the gods._

_Speaking of victorious heroes, I've not heard from Harry in months. You may or may not be happy to know that I wore him down over the summer, we agreed to reconcile on the condition that we maintain a low profile and on the promise that I return to Hogwarts without complaint. Well, I kept most of my promise (except for the without complaint part), but I will admit I was very pleased with Harry's powers of persuasion, that boy has a very talented mouth and tongue and __– teeth__. Oh, stop blushing Percy, don't forget I caught you in that empty classroom with Penelope when you were about my age, so stop being such a prude._

_It is my hope that this letter finds you safe and well and it is my greatest wish that we now set aside our differences. Do not wait too long to mend your fences, no man is promised tomorrow._

_Write soon._

_Your__ Sister_

_Ginevra._

_Percy,_

_Must I now temper my letters to you, must I now write in fear that what I have told you in confidence will be bandied about as an instrument to your ascension into the echelon of Ministry hierarchy._

_As I am sure you are aware, I was called into Headmistress McGonagall's office for an interview by none other than Minister Scrimgeour. I am sure I do not have to tell you that he wished me to reveal my knowledge of Harry's whereabouts. Even if I knew, do you honestly think I would betray Harry? I wouldn't tell that pompous windbag how to find his own arse. _

_Were you made aware that he threatened to have me expelled and he threatened father's position at the Ministry? I told him where he could shove his wand and to do whatever pleased him; there were other choice words exchanged which I will not mention here. I will say that I never thought I'd see the day when McGonagall would award points to a student for showing disrespect to the Minister of Magic! The Twins would have been proud._

_I know it must have been a scourge for someone as ambitious and ruthless as you to grow up poor and a Weasley. How the Sorting Hat managed to put you into Gryffindor will forever be a mystery to me, for you were obviously better suited to Slytherin. How far are you willing to go, Percy? You are obviously not above using your sister to further your aspirations. _

_If something happens to Harry because of you machinations, I pray God forgives you, for I never will._

_Ginevra_

_Dearest Percy,_

_I read in the Daily Prophet today that Penelope was among the casualties in the attack of St. Mungo's. Percy, I am so sorry for your loss. I hope you do not think it presumptuous of me, but I had written Penelope a letter over a year ago asking if you and she were still dating. She was kind enough to answer my letter, but begged me to understand that she could not accept future correspondence in deference to her husband's wishes. I was both pleased and shocked by her admission. It was a very short but sweet letter. I can see why you love her. _

_She would not discuss you or the rift with the family. She only wished to assure me that you were not alone and that you were well loved. She did admit that she had tried in the past to discuss your alienation with your family, but that discussion was closed and never to be mentioned again. She respected your wishes and assured me that you would be well taken care of. Her letter gave me great peace of mind._

_I didn't say anything to the rest of the family as I thought I should respect your desire to keep your new life separate from ours. Not to mention that Mum would have been devastated, but that is of no consequence now._

_It must be so much more difficult for you knowing that the attack was perpetuated by a few rogue Death Eaters a month to the day after the victory over Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts. We were at peace – the Wizarding community was beginning to heal, and now __this__ heinous crime. She died defending her patients and while I am sure that at this moment that is of little comfort to you, she died a hero defending those who could not fend for themselves. _

_Dearest brother, please know that my heart breaks for you, if you so desire I am here to lend support in your time of need. I know that there are no words that can allay the pain in your heart at this time, please know that you are not alone, that you are in my heart and in my thoughts._

_Your__ Loving Sister,_

_Ginevra_

_Dearest Percy,_

_When I first started writing these letters, I promised myself that I would not give up on you. No matter how long it took or how many letters I had to write. It's been four years, Percy, and countless letters later, still not a single reply from you. _

_Tomorrow is my wedding day, I know you received the invitation, Hedwig delivered it herself and yet I've received no response. I will not delude myself into believing that you will be in attendance along with the rest of our family. I wanted all of my brothers to present me to my groom, but given your lack of response, that will be one wedding day wish that I will have to do without._

_I've given up hope. The war is over and yet it would seem that for you it goes on. The wounds of battle have not yet healed this chasm that exists between you and our family. What wrong did we commit in your eyes? Is it that we were right and you were wrong? I cannot believe you would be that intolerant. _

_Where are you, brother? It took Hedwig days to return when she set out to deliver my wedding invitation. No one has seen or heard from you in almost a year. By some miracle our family survived this war intact, much the worse for wear, but at its culmination, we survived with our lives. And yet we mourn the loss of a beloved son and brother who has not returned to hearth and home from the war._

_Bill is still working for Gringott's; he and Fleur have a son, Jean Luc. He's a beautiful blue eyed redheaded little devil and he looks just like his father. The Twins and I call him Johnnie, much to Fleur's consternation. Thank Merlin that Greyback's attack did not have the adverse effect we feared. His handsome face is scarred but he is still Bill, the cool brother, still trying to keep us all in line. _

_Charlie is currently in Bulgaria setting up a Dragon reserve there. He lost his left arm during the battle of Hogwarts – he threw himself in front of a slashing curse that was meant for me. It would have severed my head as I was kneeling at the time attending to the wounds of a fallen student. He's still a very happy bachelor, he claims that it would be a very rare and special woman indeed who would be able to keep up with his lifestyle and compete with his beloved dragons. Not that he lacks female companionship, the scoundrel, he brings home a new girlfriend whenever he comes to visit._

_The Twins are rebuilding their shop and replenishing their Gringott's vault. Those two practically bankrupted themselves in providing gadgets and weapons for the Order, Aurors and DA. They funded the research and manufacturing of all their inventions. They were brilliant and their inventions saved countless lives. Mum is quite proud of her mischief makers and she no longer berates them for not having graduated from Hogwarts. After all, they are decorated war heroes. What's that compared to not having sat for their N.E.W.T.'s?_

_Ron and Hermione are engaged. No surprise there, but they've both decided on a long engagement. Hermione is currently studying for her __A__ levels, I think she calls them, as she wants to attend a Muggle university - Oxford, I think. Ron hasn't quite decided what he wants to do. He's been accepted as a full Auror but I think his heart's not in it anymore. He's been offered a management position for the Chudley Cannons. You would think he would have jumped at the chance to work for the Cannons, but he has several offers from other teams and a position in the Magical Games and Sports Office at the Ministry, and for once, our brother has decided to weigh his options and not go off half-cocked. Hermione's been a great influence on him._

_I am sure you heard that the Burrow was destroyed during the war. Mum and Dad are rebuilding. They are using a real magical contractor this time round and since the Ministry is footing the bill, in remuneration for their sacrifices during the war, they're going all out. Well not too much, you know Mum and Dad are simple people. Mum's in her element. Dad was made head of his department and has finally been able to staff it properly. Directly after the war he was offered a position as Deputy Minister but he turned it down. He didn't want to give up his beloved department._

_And what am I doing? I'm marrying my Hogwarts sweetheart. In two days time I will be Mrs. Harry James Potter. After so much pain and so many sacrifices and bouts of long separation, we will finally have our happily ever after. We've decided to travel for a year or __two,__ we want to be together, just the two of us, making up for lost time. We'll be traveling by Muggle transit. Harry's thrilled but I am a bit apprehensive. I do trust Harry to get us there and back again without incident, well, at least without too much incident anyway. We need to get away from the constant scrutiny of the press and of the Wizarding public. Harry's done enough. It's time for him to be a little selfish. Whenever we return, I'll probably be going into Healer training. It appears I have a bit of an aptitude for it, but I haven't quite decided and Harry's as rich as Croesus so he doesn't have to work a day in his life if he so chooses, but he's keeping his options open. When asked what he wants to do with the rest of his life, all he says is he wants to spend it with me. Merlin, I love that man!_

_So this is it Percy, my last letter. I can't keep doing this to myself, every single solitary letter I've ever written has been sent to you with the hope that this will be the letter you respond to. I send it out and wait, and when I don't receive a reply a little piece of my heart – the one that's reserved for stubborn pig-headed, prideful brothers – bleeds. Well, I've given my last ounce of blood._

_It would have been better if you'd have died, then we would have been able to mourn you, we would've had a grave to visit, we would've had an end to this torture._

_I love you brother. Wherever you are, may you find peace and happiness. Know that you are always in our hearts, that you are loved, that you are missed. _

_Forgive me. Forgive me for giving up on you, forgive me for not loving you enough, __forgive__ me for whatever crime I may have committed to offend you. Forgive me for losing hope. _

_Peace be with you dear brother,_

_Your__ Loving Sister_

_Ginevra _

The words blurred slowly before him, as he attempted to continue reading her last letter through the tears that were pooling in his eyes. He blinked rapidly in an attempt to stave them off, but only managed to dislodge them and have them rain down in a torrent of tears.

He had lost everything – his position, his honor, his wife, his unborn child, and his family. And now, the one thing he had clung to through all the years was the hope that was embodied in his sister. She had finally given up on him.

She asked for his forgiveness, she who had not wronged him in any way. _Forgive me for losing hope. _ It humbled him and brought him to his knees.

His pride, his arrogance, his unwillingness to admit his error, had all brought him to this moment in time. Alone, destitute, unforgiven.

He maintained the lie, even to himself until the truth and the lie converged and he could not longer distinguish the one from the other. In the beginning he thought he could discriminate the shades between black and white. How naïve he had been. He was a lamb among wolves. He had entered a world of intrigue, deceit and corruption while he maintained the lie that his integrity could remain intact, all the while knowing in his heart that he was being pulled further and further into a trough of deception and mendacity.

Without conscious thought, he found himself standing on the edge of the orchard to the Burrow. How he had hated that name growing up; it was demeaning to him. He looked beyond the trees to where the Burrow had once stood and saw the partially constructed house.

His heart constricting painfully in his chest, he whispered. "Home."

He walked slowly as a man to the gallows. He could hear music flowing towards him on the breeze. He stood before the gnarled tree that held her beloved tree house. He put his hand on the knotted trunk to steady himself as he stood on shaky legs. Before him, lighted by what seemed liked hundreds of paper lanterns blowing in the warm late summer air, was a wooden platform on which danced two figures. They were silhouetted by the backdrop of the sunset that could be seen through the Burrows copse of trees. Behind them, the family of the bride sat at the wedding table. Surrounding the wooden platform were dozens of white linen covered tables, filled with on-lookers who watched the dancing couple in silent reverence.

Without conscious thought, he moved slowly towards the platform's edge, walking painfully closer. As if drawn by the eyes that stared at them so intensely, the couple stopped dancing and turned their heads towards the figure standing in ragged robes. The face was unrecognizable but the hair was unmistakable, incongruous in its wild, matted disarray. In his tightly clutched fist he held a parchment, wrinkled and torn.

"Percy?" Ginny whispered, bringing a hand to her lips in an effort to keep the gasp that still lingered there at bay.

Slowly, as if afraid that if she moved too quickly this apparition would fade away before her eyes, she made her way towards her brother. As she approached, she could see the tears and the anguish that were present in his countenance. When she was a mere centimeters breath away from him, he fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around her hips, burying his face in her soft bosom, weeping as a child and repeating over and over – a prayer, a supplication of the repentant – "Forgive me," he whispered. "Forgive me."

"Shh, love, you're home. It will be all right. Shh, I love you. We love you." She stroked his matted hair, she caressed his stubbled cheek, and she kissed his tear-filled eyes, all the while crooning nonsensical words of comfort.

"Forgive me, please forgive me." He repeated in a hoarse whisper, a mantra of despair until she understood what he sought. He wanted her absolution.

"I forgive you Percy – we all forgive you." She cried with him, tears of joy washing away the pain, washing away grief.

He clung to her as a child to its mother, feeling the years melt away in the arms of her generous heart.

She felt Harry's strong hand at the small of her back, giving her support, its warmth and assurance spreading through in waves. Her family had gathered around them. She turned and she saw her Mum clinging to her father and crying softly on his shoulder. She saw her father and all her brothers with tears in their eyes and forgiveness in their hearts.

She knew in that moment that there would be no accusations or demands for explanation, there was only mercy and grace and the knowledge that what once was lost was now found.

"You're home now – all is forgiven," she said, taking his tear-stained face between her hands, her thumbs wiping away the tears as they fell from his eyes.

And there in her presence and among the family he had betrayed in the name of ambition, he felt her forgiveness wash away the sins of his past and cleanse him of his guilt and shame. And with this forgiveness, he felt the warmth of the hope that was denied him for so long.

He who was unforgiven was now redeemed.

AN: Please note that there is a paragraph in Ginny's first letter to Percy that is taken directly from Percy's Letter to Ron in Chapter 14 of OofP. It is not meant to be plagiarism, but Ginny paraphrasing her brother's letter back to him in accusation. The line begins with "You consider yourself lucky…". If you are so inclined the letter can be found at The Harry Potter Lexicon under Which Wizard and Percy Weasley's bio.


	9. Chapter 9 Dean

**Chapter Nine – When She Was Mine**

He watched them from across the crowded dance floor, his envious eyes taking in the placement of his hands on her body as they swayed to the music. He watched every nuance of their movements, the slight caresses, the whispered words, and their total absorption in each other. They were oblivious to their surroundings, perhaps only the music penetrating the haze of their world and even that seemed to bend to their will.

His artistic eyes devoured her, taking in every detail of her appearance to later capture on canvas while in the solitude of his studio. His memory would fill in the details that his eyes were now indulging in. It had been at least three years since he had last seen her and in all that time he had not felt the inspiration to paint a subject. But now his fingers itched to feel the brush once again in his hands. To watch as each stroke of brush to canvas recreated the vision before him.

At sixteen, he had loved her desperately, achingly. For a brief moment in time she belonged to him and he felt as if he could conquer the world. She was the first person he had ever allowed to see his sketchbook. They were mostly what he had considered simple caricatures of his schoolmates. But she had insisted that he try his hand at other mediums and to take his art seriously. She was his first serious subject. He recalled her embarrassment when he insisted that she model for him as they sat in the shade of a willow tree on the grounds at Hogwarts.

She was so passionately enthusiastic about his talent. She encouraged him to apply for a scholarship at the L'Institut de Paris d' Art Magique where he would learn both Magical and Muggle mediums of art. Her belief in his talent gave him the courage to apply. He sent the application and the portfolio of his work and waited anxiously for a response. He was apprehensive, but Ginny was confident that he would be accepted.

After that first initial drawing he had used her again and again as a model. She pushed him to draw still-lifes and landscapes. She recruited other girls to model for him, but she still remained his favorite muse.

She was so beautiful and so oblivious of the effect her beauty had on others, and on him. His body would react to her simplest touch – the power she unconsciously exuded over him made him heady with the knowledge that she was his. At sixteen, she had been his world, and then suddenly, abruptly, his world had come crashing down. To this day he still did not know what had gone wrong. She had been so attentive and receptive to his affections that they were – at least he had thought then – perfect for each other.

Then one day, without provocation, she had become aggravated with him over a perceived slight and she had broken things off. He had tried to speak to her, to make amends for his alleged offense. She was not cruel in her rebuff, but she was adamant in her refusal of reconciliation. He was confused and heartsick. He did not understand what he had done to suddenly find himself beyond the warmth of her affections.

_And then – the kiss._

In that single moment he understood. She would not be coming back to him. It was Harry she wanted. The remaining weeks of term were difficult for him. To be witness to their happiness, to see how well they fit together was a bitter blow. He had never seen Harry so happy, so relaxed and open. She had brought that out in him. And she had never been more beautiful. To watch her was torture. She had never looked at him the way she looked at Harry. It was a difficult thing to accept. He knew then that he would always be on the fringes of her life. On the outside looking in – watching her, wanting her and loving her – from a distance.

Then the unthinkable had happened. Albus Dumbledore was murdered on Hogwarts grounds, betrayed by a member of his inner circle. The faculty and student body were shaken to their very core. The funeral held on the Hogwarts grounds was somber – a despair so all encompassing, they did not know how they would rally from such a blow.

He watched them as they spoke in hushed whispers. Harry, a look of sadness and determination on the face that so recently had been giddy with happiness. He watched as Harry walked away from her, never once looking back, leaving her alone, abject and in tears. He wanted to go to her then and comfort her but he could not bring himself to enter the circle of her pain. He sat and watched until she finally stood and walked towards the lake, her body a study in total misery. He returned to his room that night and did his first watercolor painting of her. She stood at the lake's edge with the sunset a backdrop to her fiery mane of hair. To this day it hung in his flat office along with other drawings of her that were strewn about his flat.

When term began again in September, he was surprised that she had returned without the 'Trio' in tow. There was a sadness about her – oh, she threw herself into her studies and the activities that were required of her, but it was as if she was absent, her mind and her heart were elsewhere. She was made Captain of the Quidditch team. She was a Prefect. She volunteered with Madam Pomfrey in the school infirmary. She was an assistant to Mad Eye Moody's Defence classes. She was top in her class. She laughed and joked, she even pranked on occasion. She was constantly surrounded by friends, mostly boys – which irritated him to no end. But in spite of all of these things there was a melancholy sadness in her eyes – a sense of loneliness which permeated her very being.

She had reestablished a friendship with him of sorts. They were friends, but she maintained her distance, as if she did not want to give him false hopes. He was not foolish enough to try and rekindle their relationship. But he took the friendship she offered and was grateful. He had forgotten about the scholarship he had applied for until he had received a response sometime before the end of their first term. She was the first person he told. He was giddy with excitement and she was just as genuinely pleased as he was that he was accepted. He would be going off to Paris two months after graduating from Hogwarts, he could not have been happier. But it was a bittersweet accomplishment. He had dreamed all those months ago when he first applied for the scholarship of sharing the experience with her. They would find a small but quaint flat in Paris near the Montmartre and live the Bohemian lifestyle. They would be poor, but their love would sustain them. He would be going off to fulfill the dream that she had breathed to life to – alone.

She was especially diligent in her Defence and Healing studies and she urged as many people as she could to prepare for the worst. She had told him that she feared that He Who Must Not be Named would bring the war to Hogwarts. He believed it to be true while at the same time he hoped it would not come to pass. And just as she predicted, before the end of term the Dark Lord had brought the war to Hogwarts – to be fought by students, staff and those still loyal to Dumbledore and Harry.

What the Dark Lord thought to be an easy conquest would end in his demise – a total annihilation for him and his followers.

He had tried to stay by her side during the fighting to protect her as she assisted the wounded. Her role was all the more dangerous as her efforts were spent on the wounded and not her surroundings as the fighting raged around her. She had saved many a life that day and risked her own in the process. She had even attended to his wounds as he continued to throw hexes and curses over her shoulder.

They had managed somehow to find themselves near the fiercest fighting. She was no longer tending to the wounded but fighting for her life against the Dark Lord's inner circle of Death Eaters as she desperately tried to protect Harry when he found himself in a vicious battle with Lord Voldemort. And just when all appeared to be lost and their magical reserves and energies all but depleted, an immense magical wave of light spread across them, forcing everyone in its path to their knees and the Death Eaters first writhing in agony and then silent in death.

The battle was over and side of Light had won.

He watched again as Ginny ran to Harry's unconscious body. He watched as she cradled him in her arms, her tears washing over his dirt and blood stained face.

"Don't leave me Harry. Don't leave me here alone. You promised me." She kissed him, softy, tenderly.

"Don't leave me here alone. I love you – I love you." She cried over and over as she rocked him in her arms, his head cradled to her breast, her voice a broken sob.

They were surrounded by the survivors of the battle. Hermione sobbed in Ron's arms as tears streamed down his face. Her brothers circled around her like sentinels. They all stood in disbelief and in a fractured desolation and hopelessness. It could not have come to this end. Not Harry, they could not lose Harry.

And for a brief moment – a brief flash of thought, for which he could still feel guilt – he was relieved at the outcome. He could have another chance with Ginny! He saw brief flashes – of comforting Ginny in her grief, of her turning to him in her despair over Harry's death. But just as quickly her sobs broke through his thoughts and he realized that his love for her would be an unselfish thing. He could not stand to see her grieve and suffer so.

Into all this despair came a long gasp for breath, a heaving of chest, and then Harry's eyes snapped open. Dean had heard of how moments could be frozen in time and he and the others that surrounded the couple were witness to a moment that seemed to be frozen in eternity.

Before their eyes was a volume of emotions and words that had been suppressed for too long. Those assembled looked on in awe and reverence as Harry's hand slowly raised and his fingers lightly caressed her cheek. Ginny closed her eyes in contentment, a soft smile of utter bliss on her lips. She opened them slowly as his fingers slowly crept across her cheek and then became lost in her hair as he pulled her down into a kiss. Harry was heard to whisper into the silence that surrounded them, their lips barely touching, "I love you."

She smiled against Harry's lips, the words a caress on his mouth, "Until the day I die"

In that defining moment in Dean's life, he had let her go. By no means had he forgotten her. He compared every woman he ever dated to her and found them lacking. Nevertheless, he knew her happiness would always be Harry's to fulfill. He loved her enough to wish her happiness beyond his own making.

He had not seen her again until their wedding day a year later. He was rather surprised that he had received an invitation. He should not have been invited, but both Harry and Ginny had generous hearts. And they were both secure enough in their love that inviting an ex-boyfriend to the wedding would not be a threat to either.

He had taken Parvati Patil as his date to the wedding as she had also been invited. They had been dating for almost a year and for a while he had thought that their relationship would go further. But after a while he realized he just could not bring himself to a more serious commitment with her. She really was a great girl, once you got past all her superficial concerns about her looks and fashion. She was kind hearted and affectionate. But she just was not Ginny. Soon after Harry and Ginny's wedding they had broken things off.

The wedding was held at the Burrow. And what a beautiful wedding it was.

Ginny was an ethereal creature to behold. Her wedding robes were styled in a medieval design. It was white silk, trimmed and embroidered in gold thread. She wore a gold chain belt at her waist. Her hair was shrouded in a veil made of spun gold that sparkled brightly as it caught the light. It was rumored that the veil was a wedding gift from the Goblin High Council of Gringott's. Her glorious hair fell to her waist in waves of copper fire, intricate braids interspersed with small, delicate golden fairies. She was Queen Guinevere come to life.

It was also rumored that Harry wore the robes of Godric Gryffindor himself. At his waist the very sword that had defeated a Basilisk for his ladylove all those years before.

The ceremony was a traditional Magical wedding. The couple had also chosen to perform a Magical Bonding Ceremony. It was very rare indeed for such a ceremony to be performed and one that had not been witnessed in centuries. It bound the couple in this life and the afterlife. Their life-force would also be bound. One could not survive without the other. Upon the death of the one the other would soon follow. It was not surprising that they would choose such a bond. There was no doubt in the minds of those present that with or without the bond that neither would wish to continue on if they were lost to each other.

There were no dignitaries or members of the Ministry or Wizengamot, unless they were friends or had a personal or familial attachment to the couple. Only friends and family were invited, and Dean was honored to be among the invited.

He watched her from across the crowded dance floor that evening as well. He did not approach her for a dance. He could not bring himself to. Not without the longing he knew he would feel grip his heart.

He watched as she danced with her father and each of her brothers in turn. She danced with Neville, Seamus and Michael Corner. She even danced with Flitwick, and while it might have seemed comical to watch the diminutive Professor with the much taller witch, it was quite endearing to see as she smiled at him sweetly as they danced. He recalled how Charms was one of Ginny's favourite subjects and how she held a special affection for the always jovial and encouraging Professor.

But when Ginny and Harry danced, it seemed as if they were witness to something magical. He was never one to believe in the mumbo-jumbo that Trelawney always sprouted about auras. But that night, a golden glow seemed to surround the couple whenever they were together. According to Trelawney a golden aura was rare and signified a profound love and the joining of two souls. And if Trelawney was to be believed, then Harry and Ginny were truly soul mates.

So here he stood two years later, once again on the fringe of her life. Watching as she danced with her husband, oblivious to all around her but the man in who held her in his arms.

The music had come to an end and the band announced that they would be taking a brief intermission. The spell that surrounded them was broken. They turned and walked off the dance floor. Harry's arm around her waist, his hand resting on her hip.

They were stopped by an overly dressed dandified Wizard who appeared to be asking Harry for his political convictions in a pompously loud voice. Ginny smiled at Harry mockingly, she touched his arm lightly to garner his attention. Harry looked down at her tenderly, smiled and nodded in consent to her brief announcement. She walked off in the direction of the banquet table. Dean, without much thought, decided to follow her.

As he approached her, he noticed absently that her cheeks were flushed from the heat or perhaps from dancing. She was dipping a ladle into a punch bowl and pouring herself a cup as he sidled up to her.

"Hello Ginny." Dean's voice was whisper soft, an unknowing caress in his voice.

Ginny turned surprise-filled eyes upon him and smiled with genuine pleasure. She set down her cup on the table.

"Dean!" she gushed and proceeded to place her hand on his chest for leverage as she stood on her tiptoes to place a brief kiss upon his cheek. His chest felt warm where her hand had lingered briefly and his cheek tingled where he could still feel the warm wetness of her lips.

"It's been ages since I've last seen you. How've you been?" She continued to smile at him in a friendly way.

"I haven't seen you since your wedding. Heard you and Harry went on an extended honeymoon."

"Yes, well. I guess you could say we combined a well deserved vacation and our honeymoon. It was the most wonderful experience of my 'young' life!" She laughed. He loved Ginny's laugh – it was a contagious thing. He couldn't help but laugh with her.

"We traveled around the world, Dean! We visited both Wizarding and Muggle tourist locations. We even dressed as Muggles while we were in the Muggle tourist spots. It was great. We never had to worry about being recognized. We were just another honeymooning couple. And while we were in the Wizarding world, we would use the most outlandish disguises and came up with the most outrageous aliases."

She laughed heartily, "Unfortunately Harry's favorite alias was Mr. and Mrs. Harold Peaches."

"Giving away our secret aliases, Gin? Now we'll have to Obliviate Dean, because I am not giving that one up." Harry sidled up beside her and smiled at Dean as he stuck out his hand in greeting.

"It's good to see you again Dean," Harry said.

"Same here Harry. You're looking good," he observed.

"I'm happy. Can't help it. She makes me go all scatty."

"I can see that. She has that way about her, doesn't she?" Dean looked over to Ginny to see that she was blushing profusely in embaressment.

Harry smiled down at her tenderly. "Yes. Yes, she does."

In what appeared to be an effort to change the subject, Ginny asked, "So where's your date? I can't imagine coming stag to such a tedious Ministry affair as this."

"I'd have to disappoint you, Gin. I'm here for the Daily Prophet and I truly did not want to subject a date to the torture of having to attend such a mundane affair."

"Ginny wanted to bow out too, but I blackmailed her into coming with me." Harry teased as he looked down at his wife who spluttered in mock indignation.

"I'm the one who had to blackmail him into attending this event. He still can't believe that the day would ever come when a Potter would step foot in Malfoy Mansion ."

"You and Malfoy still arch enemies? I thought you'd come to terms after the battle?" Dean questioned.

"We did. That doesn't mean I like the git."

"Harry had a hard time accepting Malfoy's offer of assistance Voldemort's demise," Ginny added.

"It was a hard thing to accept from the man who had a hand in Dumbledore's death. To me it was like accepting the hand of a demon to defeat the devil."

"Or to believe his motives, I would imagine. After all he would be going against his own father," Dean observed.

As he finished speaking, the band had returned and began their set with a soft tune. Before he could think better of it he asked, "Would you like to dance Ginny?"

Ginny turned to Harry for approval. "You don't mind, do you, Harry?"

Harry smirked at her. "No, Baby. I don't mind." Ginny narrowed her eyes at him and then laughed.

Confused by the interchange, Dean turned to Ginny held out his hand to her expectantly. "Shall we?"

She placed her much smaller hand in his as he escorted her to the dance floor.

He brought her into the circle of his arms and into the dance before curiosity got the better of him.

"Ginny, if you don't mind my asking, what was that last bit all about between you two?" Dean was genuinely curious as to what seemed to be a private joke.

"It's silly, really." She looked up at him as she answered. "That was just Harry's way of telling me who I belonged to. As if I needed reminding. The wanker." She laughed.

"I'm not sure I follow."

"It's that he called me 'Baby'. I – well it's rather personal. Suffice it to say he's the only person I would ever allow to call me 'Baby'."

When the expression on his face remained puzzled, Ginny added, "It's an endearment Dean. One I am rather fond of."

"Ah." Dean raised an eyebrow at her.

"Yes. Ah."

They were silent for a moment before Dean spoke again. "This is a bit of a fantasy fulfilled"

"Oh? How so?"

"I'd never danced with you while we were dating." He paused and then added, "It was something I'd always regretted. Among other things."

She seemed to be uncomfortable with the topic of conversation and changed the subject rather abruptly. "I was so pleased to see your Political Cartoons in the i Prophet /i . Harry and I quite enjoy them everyday over morning tea. You have quite the acerbic wit, Thomas."

"Yes, well there is something to be said about poking fun at the Ministry and getting paid good money for it."

A small frown crossed her features. "I'm happy for your success, Dean, really, I am." She looked deeply into his eyes before continuing.

"Your cartoons are very popular. I've been told they are the cause in a major increase in sales for the _Prophet_."

She looked away for a moment, then turned her eyes upon him once again – searching for the answer in his eyes. "But I am rather disappointed that you didn't pursue your artistic aspirations. What happened?"

He took a deep breath before answering. "I'm not quite sure, really."

He was quiet for so long that she obviously thought he might not continue. Taking another deep breath, he decided to open up to her in a way he had not been to another living soul in a long time.

"After the war, I sort of lost my way. I lost my desire for my art. The passion it had once held for me. The things we saw that day Ginny – it took me a while to get over it. As the Muggles say, I was shell-shocked. When it came time for me to go off to Paris, that feeling had not gone away. At the time I thought I could perhaps attend the following year, if the spot was still open."

"And then life just got in the way. The job at the _Prophet_ sort of fell into my lap. Colin Creevey was working there as a photographer. We met by chance one day at the Leaky Cauldron, and over a pint of Butterbeer, he mentioned how the paper needed someone to do 'reenactment' drawings for those times when an eyewitness photographer was not present to represent certain stories. He remembered my caricatures at Hogwarts and recommend that I apply."

"Surprisingly, I got the job. It didn't really require much effort on my part and I didn't have to work at the _Prophet_ office. I could just turn in my assignments to the editor. It paid well and it was a cushy job."

The music had changed to a faster paced tune. They stopped dancing. Dean looked around in search of Harry but did not see him.

"Do you mind if we find a table where we can continue?" he asked.

"Not at all. Please."

He placed his hand at the small of her back as he guided her off the dance floor and led her to a table that was secluded enough to offer them privacy as they continued their conversation.

He looked at her searchingly, taking in her beauty. His fingers were itching to draw her as they talked, just as he had done when they were together at Hogwarts.

"Go on, Dean, please continue," she prompted softly, placing her hand on the arm that was resting on the table. She left it there in silent encouragement.

"You remember how I used to doodle on just about anything, essays and test? Even my letters to you were full of my doodling. Do you remember, Gin?"

She smiled warmly. "Yes, Dean. I remember"

"Well, one day without realizing it, I turned in one of my assignments with a drawing of Fudge and Scrimgeour dancing a Gavotte, dressed in white wigs and 18th Century clothing while Voldemort conducted a Chamber Quartet of Death Eaters in the background."

She laughed outright. "I would've loved to have seen that!"

He laughed with her. "I have a copy of it. If you like I'll send it to you?"

"Oh yes! That would be wonderful. Harry would love that."

Dean lost his pleasure a bit at that.

"How did you come up with that sketch anyway?" she asked.

"I had read an Editorial that morning on how both Scrimgeour and Fudge had both been finely played by Voldemort's machinations during the war and it just popped into my head."

"You're very talented, Dean. I always said you were."

He smiled. "Yes, you always did. You were the only one that ever did actually," he confessed.

She scoffed at that. "I find that truly hard to believe."

"It's true, Gin. You're the only one who ever truly believed in my art. Others said I was good or that they liked what I did or that it was pretty." He snorted in derision.

"But no one ever told me I had talent and that my art inspired them or brought them joy or that it made them think when they looked at it. Other than the cartoons for the paper, I've not drawn or painted since Hogwarts."

He put his hand over the hand she still had placed on his arm. He looked at her intently, his eyes roaming over her precious face. "I've not had the desire to – until now."

"What? Why?"

He could see that she was uncomfortable, but he could not bring himself to turn back. He wanted to be open before her. If only for tonight, this moment, he would tell her what was in his heart.

"You, Ginny. It's always been you."

He saw her expression turn from worry to shock. Her body which only moments before was turned towards him in an intimate gesture of friendliness, straightened slightly away from him.

"Dean, I…"

"There you are, Love!" Harry's voice caused them both to jump slightly in their seats.

They both looked up to see Harry with an open smile upon his face as he strode towards them.

"Ron and Hermione just arrived. They've been asking for you."

As he reached them, he took in their position at the table and his smile widened as he looked toward Dean and joked, "You ask to dance with my wife, Thomas and then I catch you holding hands in a darkened corner. Should I be questioning your intentions? You do realize I am 'The Man Who Vanquished the Dark Lord', right?"

Dean gave him a weak smile in response. He turned to watch Ginny's reaction and caught her putting her hand on Harry's arm for attention.

"Harry, can I speak to you for a moment?" she asked him softly.

Harry lost his smile at the serious expression on his wife's face. He held out his hand to her to assist her from her seat. "Of course, Baby. Excuse us for a moment Dean."

They walked a few steps away for a moment of private conversation. Dean watched as she placed her hand on Harry's chest as she gazed up at him and spoke. After a few moments of conversation Harry turned to Dean and looked at him briefly before turning back to Ginny. He placed his hand on her cheek, lowering his head to kiss her lingeringly. He lifted his head and looked at her for a moment before turning and walking away. Dean saw Ginny turn to face him. She stood still, staring from across the way, and then appeared to take a deep breath before walking towards him.

"Would you take a walk with me, Dean? I am told that Malfoy Manor has the most exquisite gardens."

He was amazed and grateful for her generous heart. Any other woman would have taken advantage of the interruption to make her excuses from what she knew would be an awkward and uncomfortable conversation. Perhaps she sensed his need for closure, his desire for confession and release.

"I would like that, Gin." He rose from his chair, extending his arm to her. She placed her hand in the crook of his arms as they strolled towards the French doors and the veranda that lead to the Malfoy gardens.

It was a crisp spring evening. The cool air felt good upon his flushed skin. This was the closest he had been to her in three years and he relished the experience. The smell of her perfume, her hand upon his arm, the brush of her gossamer gown on the legs of his pants, the contrast of their colouring, his dark complexion against her own alabaster skin. To him she was beauty personified. He would cherish these few moments with her to the fullest.

They walked in silence, their steps slow, unhurried and in sync. It was a pleasant stroll through the nineteenth century stylized garden. The flowers hid their colors from them as the late springtime blooms closed their petals for the evening. They came upon a gazebo, the white lattices gleaming in the moonlight and drawing them in like a beacon. Its gabled blue tile roof and climbing white and red roses clung to the trellises. They climbed the short steps and in silent agreement sat on the circular benches that lined the gazebo rails.

The silence was broken by Ginny's voice, low and hushed, as if in deference to their surroundings.

She turned to face him "Dean, I want to know why you gave up on your dream. I cannot bear the thought that you would abandon it on the excuse of something as frivolous as a school crush."

He turned to her sharply, anger and hurt flashing in his eyes. "Do not mock me, Ginny. Or belittle what I felt for you, _still_ feel for you. It does not become you."

She was taken aback by his reaction, but ploughed on. "Dean it was a school romance, we dated less than a year. You cannot possibly tell me that you based your reasons on that alone for not pursuing your talent. For Merlin's sake! You were sixteen and I was barely fifteen!"

A humourless laughed escaped his lips. "Really, Ginny? And when did you realize you loved Harry? Was yours not a school romance? Are you not now married and bonded to your Hogwarts sweetheart?"

He stood abruptly and walked to the other side of the gazebo railing. It was painful to look at her now, but he needed to exorcise her ghost.

"Is it so hard for you to believe that I loved you then? That I still love you – completely, utterly –irrevocably? You haunt me, Ginny; I am in love with your ghost. I look for you in other women and they are found wanting in my eyes. I see your face when I make love to them and it torments me."

"Going to Paris wasn't just my dream, it was our dream. I wanted you with me, Ginny; you were my passion, my inspiration, my muse. When the time came to leave for the L'Institut de Paris, I couldn't bear to go without you." His breath hitched in his throat and stopped speaking for fear of making a greater fool of himself that he already had.

He did not hear the rustle of fabric and her soft slippered footsteps as she approached him slowly, but he did feel her hand upon his back and the other take his hand from behind.

And then to his surprise he felt her cheek upon his back and he swore that he could feel her breath permeate through his dress-robes as she breathed out in a hushed whisper, "I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes inhaling her perfume and underneath that the scent that was Ginny. Reveling in her closeness if only for this moment.

She tugged at his hand and drew him back to the bench. She took both his hands in hers her eyes searching his face.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I did not mean to mock you or belittle your feelings. And I am sorry that I cannot return them. I'm sorry that you gave up your dream because of me. I'm sorry that you haven't been able to move beyond this."

She smiled at him ruefully. "Dean, I think you've placed me on a pedestal, glorified me beyond the realm of mere mortal women."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up her hand. "No, please let me finish. I am flawed Dean, very flawed. Just ask Harry. I have a wicked nasty temper. I'm a terrible housekeeper; I'm messy – very messy. I'm as stubborn as a mule. I'm the 'hex first and ask questions later' kind of witch. It's gotten me into a lot of trouble."

She chuckled. "I Bat-Bogeyed Harry once, it was one of our worst rows let me tell you." Then she smiled wickedly at him and said, "But the make-up sex was epic. Broke our bed that time."

"Ginny! Please!" he groaned.

"Sorry." She didn't seem the least bit repentant to Dean and it must have shown on his face, because she added. "Said that for the shock value. Inherited the trait from the Twins I'm afraid." She laughed outright at his expression.

"We married so young, so we're kind of growing up together. After that row, we promised never to use our magic against each other." She smiled fondly at what Dean supposed was a memory of her time with Harry.

"Anyway, I digress." She took a breath and continued.

"I'm not discounting what you feel for me Dean. But I don't want you to live your life loving the girl you knew at sixteen. The time we had at Hogwarts was idyllic, romantic. We never rowed, we enjoyed the same things. We shared your love of Quidditch. And we shared your passion and love for your art and your dream to study in Paris ."

"No, Ginny, it was more than that, so much more. You were mine, then. For that brief moment in time, you were mine. I thought that with you by my side I could do anything. You made my art come alive, it was nothing before you. I built my future dreams, hopes and aspirations around you."

"When you broke things off with me, I was blindsided. I couldn't understand what I had done. And then, you kissed Harry. Well, it shattered all my illusions, all the dreams I had built around you. I – I was lost."

"That's just it Dean. I want you to build other dreams, new dreams. You are going to reapply to the L'Institut de Paris, then..."

"I'm too old for that now, Ginny, even if they would have me. And what about my job at the i Prophet /i ?" Dean protested

"Pishposh!" she exclaimed, then laughed.

"That sounded like my Mum. Sorry that's one of her expressions for whenever we dared argue with one of her decrees," she explained.

"Anyway, what I meant to say is, that's total and utter nonsense. You're too old! You're only 22, for Merlin's sake. You've got your whole life ahead of you, not behind you, you pillock. And weren't you the one that said that you didn't even need an office at the i Prophet /i because you turned in your assignment via Owl Post? You can still work for the _Prophet_ if you so desire. But I am willing to bet that will only be for a bit longer once you're on the road to what you really desire.

She placed her hands on his cheeks. He closed his eyes at the contact and then opened them to stare into her eyes.

"I want you to listen to me, Dean, not just with your ears; I want you to listen with your heart. You're going to Paris, you will rent that flat in Montmartre . You will wake up each morning to the sound of street vendors as they peddle their wares in a language not yet familiar to you, but which will become second nature by the time you decide to return to your native England ." She smiled at him. "While a man with an organ sings _La Vie en Rose_." She laughed at her own stereotype.

"For breakfast you will walk to a nearby open air café that serves strong sweet French coffee and croissants that melt in your mouth. You will Apparate to the L'Institut, where you will learn your craft."

"For lunch you will take a stroll along the Seine until you reach the Musee du Louvre and each day you will take in Muggle Art Exhibits and you will soak in the art until they become a part of you. Once your afternoon sessions at L'Institut have ended, you will return to the Louvre and tour the Magical Art Exhibit. You will come to love and embrace both worlds of art. Just as with your magic and your Muggle world."

"I know you will fall in love with the Orientalists, just as I did. The passion, the color, and the richness of the culture will grab your heart and never let you go. Your first study in oil will be a tribute to the Orientalists, a reclining Odalisque in all her lush glory."

"On the weekends you will begin your tours of the Museums, the Musee d'Orsay and Auguste Rodin. And just to spite me because you know I detest modern art, you will visit the Musee National de Picasso." She laughed and he in turn could not help but laugh with her. She had often argued with him about the travesty that was modern art and how it was an insult to the classical periods.

She caressed his cheeks with her thumbs as she spun her dreams for him. He closed his envisioning the world she was creating for him.

"And one day while you promenade through the Louvre's Gardens and Tuileries you will come across a woman seated on one of the garden benches. You will pass by her and smile at her in greeting and she will return your smile. That evening as you return to your flat her face will linger in your mind as you remember her glorious black hair and fair complexion, the smile that took your breath away and the lavender eyes that shone with such life."

"You will see her the next day as you once again stroll through the gardens that you have come to know so well. Again she will return your smile only this time her smile is accompanied by a greeting and her voice will be as a caress to you."

"After several such meetings you ask her for coffee and to your pleasant surprise she accepts. You agree to meet again for coffee the next day and then the next and the next. And then one day she accepts your dinner invitation. You learn that she is a student as well and to your even greater pleasure she is also a witch. It would not have mattered to you if she were Muggle, by this time you are smitten. You begin to tour the Museums together during the day and explore Paris at night."

"Before you realize what has happened she has stormed the defenses of your guarded heart. And when you make love to her one lazy afternoon in your Paris flat, you will realize that you have exorcised my ghost and I am nothing but a happy memory of a girl you once knew at sixteen and your heart will belong to her in all its fullness."

"You will have your first Exhibit in England many years later and your friends and loved ones will be in attendance. On that day you will introduce me to your lovely wife and to the beautiful children your love has created. With their caramel skin, black hair and lavender eyes. You will look upon me and see a friend who loves you and wishes you happiness and joy. A friend who laughs with you in pleasure at the love you have created and the dreams you have fulfilled.

He felt a brief but sweet kiss upon his cheek. He opened his eyes.

"This is the dream I have for you. Will you embrace it for me? Have the courage to seek it, Dean. I promise you that while it may not exactly conform to my images, if you have the courage to seek it out it will come to you."

"I will do everything that is within my power to help you fulfill that dream, Dean. Both Harry and I will visit you in Paris . And I am sure Bill and Fleur will be happy to ask the Delacour's to sponsor you while you are in France . No, I will not be at your side as you had once dreamed, but I will be with you in my heart. Will you do this, Dean, will you embrace this dream with me?"

The images she had painted for him washed over his mind and heart. They were as vivid and real to him as the colors on his painter's palette. He would embrace them and even though she had included a woman for this dream, he knew in his heart of hearts that she would always have a special place that was all her own. Yes, he would embrace this dream.

"Thank you Ginny," he said simply. And with those words she understood the wealth of things that were left unsaid.

"Good. Now, the first thing you and I will do is visit the National Gallery in London , that is, after I help you send off that application to L'Institut. We'll need to sublet your flat or you can sell it. We need to plan what you will be taking with you and what goes into storage and…"

He laughed at her enthusiasm, this was the Ginny he remembered. He had no doubt that she would follow through on her offer to help him off to Paris and that she would recruit as many people as she could to that endeavor.

"Whoa, Ginny. I think I should take you back to Harry, before he thinks I've made off with his wife, don't you?"

She blushed. "Sorry, I went into Mum-mode again." She gave a self-deprecating laugh.

They walked back to the Ballroom and sought out Harry. They found him at the edge of the dance floor in an animated conversation with Ron and Hermione.

She slipped her hand into her husband's and kissed his cheek in greeting.

"Look what I brought back with me," Ginny said as she greeted her brother and sister-in-law.

"Blimey! Bloody Hell Dean! I haven't seen you in ages, mate. How are you?"

They gave each other a manly embrace and then Dean greeted Hermione with a kiss upon the cheek.

"You're looking lovely this evening, Hermione," he complimented her, making her blush in pleasure.

"Oi there, get your own witch, this one's mine!" Ron said in mock indignation.

They spoke for what seemed like hours of their time at Hogwarts and subsequently their years after. After a while, the couples made their excuses and headed to the dance floor once again as a slow tune was played.

Once again Dean stood on the edge of the dance floor as he watched Harry and Ginny. And as before he was mesmerized by the magic they exuded as they swayed to the music. His eyes once again roamed over her every detail. He would remember this night and immortalize her on canvas one last time.

For a brief moment in time she had belonged to him. But he would no longer look upon it with bittersweet nostalgia. He would remember her as the girl how had given him a dream all those years ago. How that dreamed had been swept away by separation and war. And how on this night , she had helped him create a new dream to follow


	10. Chapter 10 Harry

**Interlude…His Greatest Source of Comfort **

"Dance with me, Harry."

Her unexpected demand – delivered in that voice she reserved for those brief but special moments when they were alone – had taken him by surprise and elicited a response he was not prepared to face: the unfurling of the sleeping beast that had lain dormant and forlorn within his chest for what seemed an eternity.

He had been sitting alone and despondent at a corner table observing her as she danced with what seemed like every single, solitary male member of the Delacour family in attendance at Bill's and Fleur's engagement dinner.

She wore a grass green colored gown. It was embroidered with Chinese Fireball Dragons. The cut of the gown was ankle length and form-fitting, accentuating all her womanly curves. It was high collared with two slits on each side of her legs, ending slightly above the knees. Her fiery tresses were piled atop her head and fastened with two black lacquered chopsticks. On her ears was a pair of gold Dragon earrings matching the outfit's theme. The dress and earrings were a gift from her brother Charlie, whom Harry did not look too favorably upon at the moment.

She never wore make-up, and if she did, he never noticed anything more than a bit of gloss on her lips. In Harry's opinion, her natural beauty had no need of further enhancements. But today she chose to go full out, going from merely beautiful in his eyes to all out, drop-dead gorgeous.

When she had first walked into the family lounge where the Weasleys, Hermione and he had gathered in preparation for the arrival of the Delacour family, Molly Weasley had been appropriately scandalized.

"Ginevra Molly Weasley" she shrieked. "You haul your bum right back up those stairs and change this instant, young lady!"

Harry had nodded his head in agreement. "_That's right; you do what your Mum tells you to, Ginevra". _

"But Mum," she argued, "Charlie gave me this gown as a gift."

Ginny looked down at herself in puzzlement. "All my bits are covered; it has a high collar, for Merlin's sake! What's wrong with it?" She had turned pleading eyes to Charlie.

"Mum, she looks fine. Besides it's too late for her to change as the Delacours should be arriving any minute now." Charlie argued her case with an amused smile on his face.

Molly huffed indignantly. "She, she looks like a - like a scarlet woman! Arthur!" She turned to her husband for support.

"Now, Molly dear, it's not as bad as all that. She does look a bit older than her years. But you won't let it go to your head _will you Princess? _" Arthur Weasley winked at his daughter, turning his head away from his wife slightly so that she would not catch him in such a blatant act of conspiracy.

Was Arthur Weasley nuts? Harry was horrified that he would let his only daughter, his '_Princess' _, gallivant around in that outfit all evening, sure to attract all manner of advances from the males in attendance.

Ginny beamed at her father. "Of course not, Daddy!"

"See, Molly, she'll behave." Arthur gave his wife a conciliatory peck on the cheek.

Molly heaved a great defeated sigh and then turned to George. She opened her mouth to pronounce her directive, but was stopped short by her son's derisive snort. "Let me just collect the Prewett chastity belt out of storage, shall I? It will be a sight easier than me keeping my eye on her all evening. Honestly, woman," George affected an indignant tone. "Have you no faith in your daughter's moral fortitude?"

"It's not her moral fortitude I'm worried about, but the levels of hormones from all the French males that will be in attendance," Molly replied.

Harry gave the equivalent of a mental nod of agreement. He knew he could count on Molly Weasley to be the voice of reason.

"No worries, Mum, I've got my wand with me," Ginny replied cheekily

Harry's eyes scanned her outfit trying to determine where on her person she could possibly be hiding her wand when Ron gave voice to his thoughts.

"Where in the bloody hell could you possibly be carrying your wand in that get-up!"

"You'll never know and neither will the bloke that tries anything." She smirked at Ron and then winked at Charlie who had laughed appreciatively at her comment.

Further comment on Ginny's attire was interrupted by the arrival of the '_Delacour Delegation,' _ as Harry had begun to think of them, en masse. It was a bloody French invasion, in Harry's opinion.

As the _delegation_ made its way towards the open yard of Tthe Burrow, Harry could see the large, white Magical tent that had been erected in the Weasley yard, which had been provided by the Delacour's, a concession made by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley in order to placate the demands of their future daughter-in-law.

Upon entering the tent, one was greeted by an elegant vestibule with an exquisitely designed parquet floor. At its center was a round mahogany table with an enormously elaborate floral arrangement made up of exotic flowers all in white as was the French tradition. Behind and to each side of the table was a grand staircase that led to what Harry assumed would be the ballroom where the engagement party would take place.

Harry noted that each of the Weasley's wereas escorting one member or another of the '_Delacour Delegation'. _ He had been recruited to escort Gabrielle Delacour, Fleur's sister. She was a sweet girl, but she seemed to have acquired a bit of hero worship for Harry. She blushed and stuttered in his presence, reminding him of another girl he would much rather have clinging to his arm at the moment.

His eyes had fellallen upon the couple that was walking slightly ahead of them in the procession to the ballroom. Vermilion locks seemed to be entangled with blond as the man withthat escorted Ginny on his arm leaned over to whisper in her ear. Harry also noted that said gentleman's hand was holding, unnecessarily so, the hand that Ginny held in the crook of his arm. Harry seethed with impotent jealousy a. And the beast within his chest strained against the restraints Harry had placed upon him. He struggled to, ignoreing its growls and rumbles of frustration and the need to reclaim what it clearly thought of as its possession, its mate.

Etienne Delacour was introduced as Fleur's first cousin from her Mum's side of the family. Etienne had zeroed in on Ginny like a Niffler to gold. The problem was that, he was notn't the only male member of the '_Delacour Delegation' _to gather round the flame that was Ginny Weasley.

She had'd been surrounded the minute all the introductions were all made. She seemed to have garnered the admiration of each of the Frenchmen from the wizened to the prepubescent.

He had been a silent observer to all these attentions as he sat alone at his corner table watching her every movement across the dance floor. Her vibrant hair that matched her personality so perfectly, enthralled him, as a tendril would escape its fastening and fall like a caress upon her skin, and he wisheding he could be that lock of hair touching her cheek. Her infectious laughter, her luminous smile, her joy in the moment and how others were drawn to her as a moth to a flame.

And as the night wore on, Harry's disposition became more and more stoic and sour. He should be the one holding her in his arms, his hand on the small of her back as he drew her closer to his body, her hand soft and small in his calloused and larger one as he led her across the dance floor. Her smiles should be for him and him alone. He wanted to be the one to cause her laughter, her joy. Instead he sat on the outskirts of all the revelry as he became more withdrawn as time seemed to stand still in his utter misery of the moment.

Harry, who's mood which had been stoic at best from the moment he had set foot at Tthe Burrow that first week in August, was rapidly deteriorating into depressioned and miseryrable as he witnessed the male admirers she seemed to gather so effortlessly.

He was notn't quite sure what he had expected Ginny's attitude towards him would be upon his arrival at the Burrow, with Hermione and Ron in tow. It was something he had brooded about quite a bit while awaiting his coming of age at the Dursley's.

At night when he was alone and lying in his bed, she plagued his, unconscious thoughts as she visited him in his dreams with nightly regularity, . tTormenting him with their sweetness. When it became impossible for him to excise her from his mind, he would finally allow himself to indulge in remembering every detail of her face and body, or he would remember with as much clarity as his aching heart could muster, every moment they had spent together those few glorious weeks last spring. His mind would chronicle and map the most miniscule detail. That one freckle that would drive him crazy with longing, the one that was on the corner of her left upper lip and how he would nibble and caress it with his own mouth and tongue. Her hands, her delicate soft hands as they caressed his cheek or lay on his chest where he was sure she could feel the erratic beating of his heart at her innocent touch. Those eyes, those cat-like eyes that had always shown with love for him. Her skin so soft and pliant underneath his fingertips. Her hair, that glorious mane the color of the sun on fire, the wonderful feel of it between his fingertips as he would kiss her or hold her in his arms. And even though the memory of her brought him to his knees with longing, he could not stop himself from thinking of her, hoping for her, loving her.

His first glimpse of her was like a punch to the stomach. He tried to suppress the absolute satisfaction he felt at the very sight of her. It was as if the memory of her was a mere specter to the radiant reality that raced towards them. Her hair a living breathing entity as it flowed and moved behind her. Her body with its supple womanly curves – he had clenched his hands into fists in an effort to stave of the compelling desire to remap her body with his hands, to reclaim what he had once thought of as his province to touch, to caress, to hold. It took all his force of will to remain immovable to the force of nature that was _his _Ginny. No! Not his Ginny any longer, she was forbidden to him.

She had run up to Ron first and gave him a Molly Weasley hug, the likes of which Harry had never been witness to. By her own admission to Harry, she and Ron had mended the rift in their relationship, but he had never seen her so effusive towards her brother. She was genuinely pleased to see him and that pleaseddelighted Harry to no end. She then turned to Hermione and greeted her warmly, smiling and chattering away like a magpie. And then with the same sisterly affection she had bestowed on her brother and Hermione she turned to Harry and greeted him with a warm smile and a "How are you Harry?" and without waiting for an answer, she linked arms with Hermione and proceeded towards the Burrow.

Angry Ginny, depressed Ginny, cold and unforgiving Ginny he had expected. What he had not expected was Ginny's cheerful greeting, as if his heart was notn't breaking at the sight of her. As if her heart was notn't breaking at the sight of him. But this jovial, happy facade was not what he had anticipated. It hurt at first and then it angered him and finally, it terrified him.

During his stay at the Burrow, she did notn't ignore him altogether, but she did not go out of her way to seek him out either. She did notn't give him sidelong mischievous glances or smile at him as she used to. It was as if they had'd returned to being casual acquaintances and she had'd been relegated to the status of Ron's baby sister. She acted as if he was nothing more to her than someone she passed in the halls at Hogwarts, a familiar face but a stranger otherwise.

Did she hate him now? Was this her act of rebellion? That she would not allow him to see the hurt he had inflicted?. None of the reasons that his mind conjured gave him peace. Rejection, regret, rebellion, hatred, pride, a love deferred – they all brought a sense of grief to his burdened heart.

Perhaps she did not love him as she had professed? But that thought was devastating to Harry and he tried not to dwell on that possibility. Ginny was not disingenuous. Yet, he thought, when it came to her feelings for him she had set them aside in the past, hidden them from all too knowing eyes. Her pride, her inner strength and her fear of being controlled through her emotions could be the impetuous for her current jovial demeanor. It was an act of stubborn rebellion, against her own emotions.

He knew that she felt her love for him had been her weakness, a power that he had wielded over her. Now she seemed determined to channel that love into a superficial friendship. The mere thought that perhaps she had reverted to the Ginny that hid her feelings from him, made his heart clench in his chest. He had promised her and himself that he would never willingly be the cause of her pain again, yet mere weeks later he had cast her aside. He now realized how truly naïve that promise had been.

Before his arrival a part of him had secretly fantasized that she would call forth all the powers of her feminine wiles to entice him, persuade him, and prove to him that he had made a mistake, that he was wrong to push her away. That she would remind him of the desolation that was his life before her. She would tempt him with the knowledge that he was an empty shell without her, that he did not need to lead this barren existence in order to fulfill his destiny. She would cross the chasms he had laid before her and bring down the walls of the fortress he had tried to erect around his heart.

His mind, his heart, and his conscience were at war as each fought for dominance within him as he agonized over his choices.

Did he follow what he perceived logic dictated was the best course of action in an effort to keep Ginny out of harm's way?

Did he listen to his heart, a heart that told him he was weaker without her?

Did he give in to the conscience that advised him to do what was best for Ginny, regardless of the pain it caused him and the overwhelming need to give in to his heart's desire?

The weight of his choice was heavy on his heart. The _regret _that he felt from the moment he walked away from her at Dumbledore's funeral had festered within him with each passing day during their separation. Her _rejection _whether real or imagined, upon his arrival, had wounded him beyond any pain he had ever been subjected to in his life. Because this pain, this unbearable feeling of having his heart torn from his body, was inflicted by someone who had professed to love him.

The feelings he had previously alluded to her, he would also have to claim as his own. His thoughts traversed the same path over and over again. _Rebellion and pride _traveled hand in hand, for if she no longer loved him, then he could damn well do without her. But with those thoughts self-loathing always followed those thoughts, a d he could only despise himself. He could not bring himself to _hate_ her for her supposed rejection. How could he? He had cast her aside. He had no right to revile her for the choices he had made. He also suffered the torment of _a love deferred_, to deny his love and live with the very real possibility of losing her love forever.

There was a part of him in the deep recesses of his mind and heart that expected her outward reflection of a broken heart,. some pProof that she was as miserable without him as he was without her, because those feelings and that had frightened and hurt him beyond what words could possible express. For he knew that with all his strengths, gifts and abilities that the one thing he needed above all these things to survive this duty that was laid before him was certainty of Ginny's love

And now she stood before him, her hand outstretched, demanding that he dance with her, the fierce look of determination in her eyes that he had come to love so completely.

He knew the moment he took her hand in his that he had made a grave error. She had beckoned to him like the sirens of mythology, and much like the sailors of legend, he crashed his ship upon the rocks, laying his fate at her feet – without regret.

He stood and took a step closer to her. He could feel the heat of her body, palpable and radiating from her as if she had touched him. Her heady, unique scent enveloped and embraced him. He looked into those eyes, her catlike eyes that were his doorway to heaven – he saw eternity in her eyes. How could he have doubted for one instant the purity of her heart? When all he had to do was spend an eternal moment lost in the language of her eyes. Eyes that held a thousand promises unspoken, a love undiminished, unwavering, constant yet ever changing. Eyes that told him that she would love him in this life and the next. In her eyes he saw his future.

They stood there for the span of a heartbeat, eternity held within the palms of their hands. He saw his unborn children, his life in the span of a moment, his life with her. They did not need words to impart the emotions that seemed to charge the very air they breathed. His heart spoke to hers - words were meaningless, empty, worthless things.

He led her to the dance floor bringing her into the circle of his arms. He was home. She was his treasure, his heart. Wherever Ginevra was, there was his home.

He could feel the blood running through his veins again, his heart pounding in his chest, the hum of his breathing within his body. He felt alive again, as he had not felt since he had walked away from her that bleak summer day. He realized that he had been going through the motions of living, like an automaton, bereft and devoid of emotions. They held each other close, fiercely, desperately, knowing that their time together would end all too soon. How long they danced he did not know, whether it be an hour or an instant.

As the last strains of the music hung in the air, he felt her hand slide from around his neck to his shoulder, to travel slowly down his arm. She took his much larger hand in hers, her eyes never wavering from his, h. Her gaze intent and determined. She turned, guiding him from the dance floor. Not a word was spoken between them, and yet it seemed as if their eyes had spoken volumes.

They left the tent and walked in silent agreement towards the River Otter. It was a moonlit night and they had no need of wand light to guide them. They walked in silence, their arms wrapped around each others' waists, their steps in sync. She brought him to the base of a gnarled tree on the river's edge. A long sturdy branch lay across the river like a hammock.

Harry summoned a blanket and laid it on the lush, soft grass at their feet. She sat on it the blanket and lifted her hand towards him; her eyes were luminous in the moon's lights glow. He could not refuse her entreaty any more than he could ask his heart to stop beating.

He removed his dress robes, placing it across her shoulders as he sat beside her. Lifting his hands to her hair he removed the chopsticks that held her hair in place, allowing it to fall about her shoulders like a fiery waterfall. Then he lay back on the blanket, lifting his arms to her. "Come here, Baby,; lie down next to me."

A sob escaped her lips at the beloved endearment as she came willingly into his arms. He held her as she cried, silent tears soaking his white dress shirt. Harry felt every sob and hitch in her breathing as a stab to his heart. He could feel the sting of tears behind his eyes at the sound of the grief he had caused her.

As her tears began to fade away and her breathing returned to normal, the tightness in his chest abated as the sound of her pain receded. He stroked her hair, delighting as he always did in the feel of the silken strands as they ran through his fingers. He took delightpleasure in these precious moments that had been given to them,. iIn the sounds that surrounded them, the whisper of the wind through the trees, the crickets in the thicket. TSurrounding them the fireflies danced and the insects buzzed as they flit about. He could see the stars as they would come and go into his line of vision with the swaying of the tree's branches in the wind. And yet in none of these things did he take as much pleasurejoy as the feel of her in his arms once again, her flowery scent enveloping him in its sweetness.

"Harry?" Her too soft voice broke the silence between them.

"Hmm?"

"You said that you loved me."

He hesitated for a moment before answering "Yes."

"You love me still." Not a question so much as an affirmation.

Again, a heart beat's hesitation. "Yes."

She nodded her head against his chest.

"I, I know you're leaving soon, with Ron and Hermione,." sShe said hesitantly.

He gave a start. How could she know that with such certainty?

"I overheard you, Ron and Hermione talking in Ron's room. If you hope to be successful in this Horcrux hunt – whatever that may be - you're going to have to learn to be more careful and put up silencing charms." There was a teasing lilt to her voice and something more he could not pinpoint.

He lifted her chin with the crook of his finger. "Ginny, this is very serious. That knowledge is very dangerous. Your being aware of what we'll be doing puts you in danger,." hHe chastised.

"I'm aware of that, Harry. But I see that it's all right for Ron and Hermione to be privy to this knowledge. They're strong enough, worthy enough, trusted enough to be privileged with the knowledge of your secrets." There was a bitter edge to her voice.

"Ginny, love, please understand. Hermione, Ron and I have been through so much together…"

She stiffened in his arms and then put her hands to his chest as she tried to push herself away from him. But he held fast to her.

"Let go of me, Harry,." sShe whispered fiercely.

"No, Ginny, please – I didn't…"

"Let go of me Harry – I don't want you to touch me right now." She continued to struggle in his arms, but he held onto her desperately, fearfully. Her rejection of his touch set off a wave of fear in the pit of his stomach that spread throughout his body and clenched at his heart.

"Please, _let go _." The tone of her voice was, desperate, wounded on the verge of – he knew not what.

He let her go.

She went limp in his arms and then pushed off him and stood, walking quickly to the river's edge. She placed a shaky hand against the low branch of the willow tree, the other covered her mouth.

He sat up on the blanket, his arms resting on his upturned knees, hands clasped tightly together. He watched her shaking form as she stood there taking deep breaths into her lungs. He knew he had hurt her – deeply.

His mind raced to find the right words that would tell her he was sorry, that he did not n't mean that the way it sounded. To tell her that he placed her above all others, loved her, trusted her, and needed her above all others.

"Ginny, I, I didn't mean that the way it sounded, please let me…"

"Don't." Hher breath hitched in her chest.

She took steadying breath her voice much firmer., "Just – , just – doesn't."

How could a so few words convey such hurt and anger?, Bbut even more painful to him was the fact that they spoke of disappointment, her disappointment in him. It left him bereft and confused as to how to make it right, how to explain that he had not meant that Ron and Hermione were more important to him than she was. He had a great and abiding affection for them; they were his first and dearest friends. But the platonic love he felt for them paled in comparison to the fierce emotions that his love for her evoked.

He watched her from his seated position on the blanket, wanting to approach her, to gather her in his arms and soothe away the hurt he had so unthinkingly inflicted. But the language of her body was stiff and unapproachable. He feared that whatever action he took, whatever words he spoke, might cause her more anger or pain. Her wounded, fractured heart, the one he so unthinkingly injured, stood between them. Her pain was like a living entity, radiating heat, resentment and pain. An emotional hydra he dared not approach, for as he faced one emotion he feared another would grow in its place.

A sudden fear overtook him, leaving him vulnerable and insecure. Would she give up on him? What had her love for him brought her except feelings of rejection, insecurity and loss? He told her he loved but his actions showed her otherwise. He took the precious gift that was her love and then carelessly tossed it aside. His reasons were noble but his actions unpardonable. And yes, while her well- being was his objective, he could not deny that on some level it was self-serving. _He _could not deal with her loss, _he _needed the security of her safety, _his_ sacrifice was ultimately more painful because it was for her protection.

_He _was an arse.

Yes he was an arse and while he felt he might not deserve it, he hoped and prayed she would not give up on him. He would make her see that their love was worth fighting for, worth the struggles, pain and separation that was to follow..

"I won't do it, Harry." Her words broke into his thoughts. He was caught off guard by her sudden declaration. Given the direction of his thoughts he was disoriented by her statement.

"I won't – I will not be that girl pinning away for you. I will not be second or third in your affections or your regard. I don't deserve that." She didn't turn around as she spoke, but kept her back to him.

"I don't expect – you're not…" hHe stuttered, trying to explain, trying to tell her he was sorry.

But she continued on as if he had not spoken "I won't be that little girl again, Harry. I love you, more than words can ever convey. But I will never again allow my sense of self to be dictated by your value of my worth or lack thereof in your life."

She turned to face him – her face was in shadow and he could not see her expression. But her eyes – he could see her eyes – they shonewn bright and fierce, unyielding.

"You promised me that you would not ask me to do or be what I was not. You say you love me, yet you made this decision about us without consulting me – you took my choices from me. Where is your regard and respect for me, Harry, that you could choose to leave me behind, the consequences and effects of your actions in my life be damned." She stared him down for a long moment; it seemed as if she was contemplating what she would say next, weighing the words in her mind.

"I never took you for a coward, Harry."

Harry's temper flared at her comment. He was upon her in a few quick strides, gripping her arms. "If wanting to keep you safe makes me a coward – then I'm a coward!" He hissed.

"Except you're not doing it for my safety, Harry – your wanting to keep me safe is a selfish thing." Harry was shaken by her perceptiveness, as if she could read into his heart, his mind, his fears. But he did not have a moment to dwell on these things as she continued, her frustration with him palpable.

"But that's not the crux of what I'm trying to convey to you!" She raised her voice in exasperation.

"Do you love me, Harry?" she demanded.

"Yes, damn it, you know I love you,." hHe shot back.

She laughed at that. "Your love shouldn't be prefaced with a curse, Harry."

Merlin she was exasperating! "This isn't funny, damn it!"

"No, no it's not,." She sighed, her countenance which had up to that moment been a bitter, angry scowl, softened as if silently pleading with him for understanding, her voice entreating.

"Harry, you cannot declare your love for me in one breath and then push me away and keep me from the important things in your life. It doesn't work that way. Love cannot survive on secrets and emotional distance. If you love me as you say you do, I need to be a part of every aspect of your life."

"No!" His voice shook with anger. "You're not coming with us! Ginny that is not up for discussion here."

"I am not asking to go with you. I know that I would be a liability to you. I'm underage; I cannot use my wand outside of Hogwarts without detection nor Apparate without a license. I'm aware of that; that's not what I am asking."

He was disarmed by her last declaration, his sudden burst of anger fading away. "What do you want, Baby? If it's within my power to grant it, I will. But not at the cost of your safety, don't ask that of me,." He pleaded, willing her to understand.

She sighed, suddenly lookinged so very tired. She gently placed her hands on his cheeks, her fingers a gentle caress on his skin. "Harry, what is it that you fear?"

"I – I don't understand?" He looked deeply into her eyes, as if he could find the answers to her question there. What did he fear? His mind was reeling from the question. No one had ever asked him that.

"What is keeping you from being open with me about what you must do? What fear allows you to break your promise to me?"

Her eyes, those beautiful insightful eyes, searched his, seeming to pierce his very soul. Weighing, judging, measuring him until he felt as if he was naked before her. He felt as if he could see within the depths of her eyes his fear, his weakness, and the wretched despair he felt at the very real possibility of failure. A failure that could very well cost her life, the life of her family and all those who were known supporters of the Light. But the fear that brought him to his knees, what he feared above all things, was to win this war but lose what he treasured the most.

Her.

"You can't keep me safe, Harry." She spoke so softly that he had to strain to hear her, but when the words penetrated into his thoughts he felt as if she had physically hit him.

"There is nothing you can do that can guarantee my safety." She caressed his face softly, tenderly, her eyes filled with compassion and understanding. "I'm a Weasley, we're known blood-traitors, regardless of our association, _my _association with you., We're targets. Nothing that could happen to us, to me, would be because of something you did or failed to do."

"Ginny," hHe began, but he found that he could not continue for the lump that seemed to have formed in his throat, blocking the words.

"We're at war and none of us is guaranteed tomorrow. The only thing I can promise you is that I won't be foolish; I'll go to back to Hogwarts when term begins. I'll try not to balk at all the restrictions in the name of my protection that my parents and brothers will thrust upon me. I'll pretend that you mean nothing to me and that I am nothing to you other than my brother's sister. I'll stay safe for _you _, because I know that is the one thing you need from me. I won't like it, I'll hate it in fact, but I _will _do whatever it takes to give you peace of mind, so that you can do whatever you need to do and not worry about me in the process."

A moment of such clarity washed over him as he looked upon her precious face as if for the first time. Before him stood the one person God had created for him, there was no other. That she was willing to go against her very nature to give him what he most needed ,most, humbled him beyond measure. Her love was selfless and self- sacrificing. She loved him beyond herself, she loved him enough to let him go, even though he knew it was killing her inside, even though it meant suppressing her spirit. He had'd told her he loved her, but he never truly understood the meaning of those words until this moment. Their love was deathless, boundless, constant, without time or space to hinder its full measure. Love was patient, love was selfless and giving, love was strong in its weakness and understanding in the face of conflict. She taught him this and he would do whatever was in his power to be worthy of that love, to honor her sacrifice, to come back to her. To love her with the same ferocious spirit that beat in her heart.

Suddenly he felt overrun with emotions, she wasn't close enough, he needed to feel her, he needed to feel as if she were under his very skin, a part of him that he could always carry around. Grabbing her arms he pulled her into a tight embrace and they clung to each other fiercely, desperately. As he held her, his mind and heart racing with the desperate need to face the fear of losing her, or else his worries over her safety would be debilitating and consequently disastrous. Not only in his search for the Horcruxes, but to his responsibility for Ron's and Hermione's safety as well. And ultimately when the time came to finally face Voldemort.

She was right, no man was guaranteed tomorrow, especially not during times of war. They could not promise each other tomorrow, but they could have these moments. He would take whatever time was allotted to him and keep them close to his heart as treasured memories to store away for a time when he would be burdened with the weight of his responsibilities, to remind him what he was fighting for.

He pulled away from the embrace and looked down at her beloved face, his hand came up to cup her cheek. She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against his palm, a smile of contentment upon her lips.

Harry just stared at her. He loved her, really loved her. Beyond reason, beyond understanding, beyond all the tomorrows they may or may not have. He loved her. And he wanted to spend whatever was left of his life as her possession, belonging solely to her and no other.

Could it really be that simple? He shook his head to clear it from the fog that seemed to be clearing from his mind with each passing moment.

_And then he grinned._ He knew that if he allowed her to apply her feminine wiles and her Weasley powers of persuasion that she would wiggle herself back into his life and his arms.

_And then he laughed._ Throwing his head back and letting go the most heartfelt, joyful laughter that he had ever experienced in his young life. This witch would be the death of him and he would die with a happy smile on his lips and laughter in his heart.

He picked her up and swung her around as she laughed with him unrestrainedly.

He sobered quickly as a thought struck him, he voiced his concern to her as he settled his arms around her tightly. "We need to continue the pretense of our break up, Gin. That cannot change, nor will I compromise on this point. Do you understand?"

Harry was surprised to see her smiling at him. "I know that Harry, I understand. I was expecting that as part of our compromise."

"Gin, nothing's changed, not really. You still can't come with me, we – we will still be parted soon. No one can know that we love each other, we need to still keep up the deception that we've gone our separate ways."

She nodded her head to acknowledge his concession.

"There is so much I need to tell you, Gin, and there's so little time. Lay back down with me on the blanket?" He asked tentatively.

She gave him a warm smile and nodded her assent.

They settled down on the blanket again and he sighed in contentment as he once again held her in his arms. He did not want these moments with her to end and yet they would be over too soon. When he spoke it was in a hushed whisper, just enough to be heard over the sounds of the night that surrounded them.

"There is so much I need to tell you. But I don't want to waste these precious moments with you on such things."

"Then don't. There will be plenty of time for explanations. I don't need to know at this very moment what it is you will be setting out to do. I am happy in the knowledge that you aren't going to freeze me out of your life and the things that are important to you. I can't bear the thought that you have so little regard for me, for the place I hold in your life, in your affections."

"Oh Merlin, Ginny, Can't you see how much you mean to me? Are you really so insecure about how much I love you?. You're the most important person in the world to me. Can't you feel how much I love you when I kiss you, when I touch you? That I place you above all others? I know I don't say it often enough. I'm…well, I'm just not used to saying it, but I do love you, so much."

His eyes roamed across her face. Taking in all the features that made his heart beat just a little more rapidly within his chest, the face that could awaken the beast and make it purr in contentment and joy. It was amazing to him tThat someone so beautiful and good, whose outer beauty paled in comparison to her beauty of spirit, could love him in return. He took her small hand and placed it upon his chest, so that she could feel it's rapid beating, and because he did not have the words to express how much he truly loved her, he willed her to understand that his heart beat in his chest with love for her.

He _was_ miserly with his words and affections in general. Having been raised in a loveless, abusive home, he had no frame of reference for the expression of affection. Having spent so many years in introspective thought and lack of physical, emotional and verbal contact, he was unaccustomed to these forms of expressions.

But with Ginny, the emotions just seemed to flow out of him, as if he was born to love her. The prophecy, his fate, was as nothing compared to this feeling of purpose and completeness. If given the choice between Ginny and fulfilling the prophecy – well, there could be no choice.

More the reason to keep her safe. He could not do what needed to be done if his energies were expended in agonizing tormented about her safety.

"Ginny, I may be a prat at times. I will do things occasionally that will hurt you or anger you. I know that you're capable and strong. I don't doubt your abilities; quite frankly I'm in awe of them at times." He took a deep breath, he could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest and he wondered if the hand that still lay on his chest could feel the change in it's rhythm.

"Gin, what I am about to say will probably anger you, but I want you to understand my reasoning before you fly off the handle. Will you promise to listen to all I have to say?"

She nodded her head against his chest. "Yes, I promise."

"Even if you were of age and could Apparate, I wouldn't take you with me." He felt her stiffen in his arms for a moment and then relax, letting out a breath. He waited for a moment, testing her promise to him, before continuing.

"It's not because I don't trust you, I know you would be a great help to me. But I would be a wreck worrying about you. One of my greatest assets in a fight is my ability to think on my feet. If you were in harm's way or if I had to choose between you and this mission, I would choose you. I would rather give up my right arm than be parted from you now. Being with you has been like a dream, for a brief moment in time I was just Harry, a hormonal teenage boy in love with a beautiful teenage girl. I wasn't Harry Potter 'The Chosen One'; I was just me in love with you."

"I don't want to leave you behind. I don't want to do this, but I have to. I may not survive him, Gin. I may die trying, but I have to try. But for the first time in my miserable life, I have a reason to live, a reason to fight. And that reason is you."

He could feel the warm, wet tears, and it pained him that he was the cause of it. He lifted her face, kissing away her tears, tasting the salt of her pain on his lips. "Don't cry Ginny-love, please don't cry."

"I just – I love you so much. I don't want you to leave, I don't want to lose you,." She choked out, and then what came next shocked him as he listened to her pour out all her anger, fears and frustrations.

"And, and…I hate the fact that Ron and Hermione have a part of you that I will never have, a part of you that I've been shut out of . I hate that I feel jealous and resentful towards them. I hate this self-doubt that tells me you don't trust me or trust my ability to take care of myself, this doubt that tells me you don't love me the way I love you. When you said earlier that you'd been through so much together, that more than anything told me that they have an importance in your life that I will never have. They have a place in your life you will never allow me to be a part of."

"I'm not the hearth and home type, Harry, to wait upon the return of the man I love from the war. Wringing my hands in misery wondering if you will return to me. Do you have any idea the misery my life will be in your absence, wondering and worrying for your safety? Do you have a place to lay your head at night, have you eaten properly, are you warm enough, cool enough? What torment I will suffer every night wondering if you're hurt somewhere, calling out for me, needing me and there I'll be like a Princess from those Muggle fairy-tales locked away in some castle tower awaiting her Prince Charming to come and rescue her."

"Ginny-love, don't you think I have the same worries. I think of my life without you in it, and it tears me apart. Just the thought of giving up my greatest comfort, my source of strength, leaves me feeling empty inside. It frightens me sometimes how much I need you. I need to know that you will be safe, that your family will watch over you and that you will be secure within the walls of the castle."

"I know, Harry,." sShe whispered miserably. "I've given this a great deal of thought. I know that staying out of harm's way is the best way to help you. I know this, but it goes against the grain, against everything I am. I understand these things logically, but my heart, my heart, Harry, rails against it. I hate that Ron and Hermione have a part of you that I never have. There is the niggling fear that this need to protect me will never be abated that I will always be kept like a china doll upon a shelf, sheltered. yes, but untouched, unloved, segregated from reality. You need to come to terms with your fear because this will be the one and only time that I will accept being kept separate and apart from you and what is important in your life. I iI _will /iI _excise you from my life, it will be like living with half my soul, but I will live a half life without you than accept a half life with you. I want all of you or nothing at all."

Harry had never seen such fire and determination in her gaze. These were not mere words, a threat or an ultimatum, her words were truthful and honest.

Harry looked down on her tear stained face, the face he loved beyond reason, beyond comprehension. That his thoughtless words, his fears and inattention had caused her so much sorrow, so much uncertainty. The pads of his thumbs wiped one tear only to have it replaced by another and then another. He bent his head and kissed each one that fell from the corners of her eyes, tasting the salt of her grief.

"Forgive me." He kissed another tear.

"Forgive me,." He begged.

"Forgive me the pain I have caused." He kissed the tears on her lips, wishing away the grief.

"Forgive me for making promises and breaking each in turn. For asking you to be what you are not. For taking your choices from you. I've been so stupid, so blind." As her tears abated he kissed the corners of her mouth, her cheeks, her temple. Tasting the salt of her pain upon his lips.

"I love you, Baby, so much. Your place in my heart, in my life rivals all others. I trust you more than anyone, anyone," he repeated fiercely willing her to absorb his words as truth, "I know you can take care of yourself, but I – I don't want you to, I want to take care of you. Please don't be angry with me - it breaks my heart…and yes Ron and Hermione have been a part of my life that you've not shared in and I'm sorry for that, I was a blind fool. But you have all of my heart, I give that to you and no other."

He kissed her tenderly, sweetly. Begging her to forgive his many faults and the pains he'd caused her. "Please, Baby, please forgive me." He looked into her eyes openly and honorably as he sought her absolution and the tender mercy that was her love.

She returned his stare as openly and honestly as he so that he would not doubt the truth in the benediction of her mercy. And because she knew he needed the words he heard her say "I forgive you Harry."

He understood in that moment that he could not earn her love, it was a gift freely given. He closed his eyes overwhelmed with wonder and gratitude of so precious a gift. .

He opened his eyes at the whisper-like caress of her fingertips upon his temple, pushing away the fringe from his forehead tracing the lightening- bolt scar that only she had ever touched and his heart ached at her tender caresstouch.

'You need to promise me something, Harry. You need to promise me that this will be the last time you leave me behind. No more secrets, no more noble acts of sacrifice. After this we will never be separated again, our hearts, our lives will be open and free to love each other without reservations and without fear."

He marveled at her strength and determination and at her perception of his character. She knew him better than he knew himself. She had searched his soul and found his darkest fears, brought them into the light and banished them as the morning mist dissipates in the presence of the sun. Yes, she was his sun and he would conquer his fear and her love would be his strength. He would give her this promise, he would live it, without reservation or fear.

"I promise." And as if a benediction to his covenant with her, he kissed her, sweetly, tenderly with all the love he felt in his heart. He felt as if his heart had expanded, as if it needed to make room for the love for her that seemed to burst forth from him in waves.

"I love you," he whispered as he kissed her temple, "I love you," her cheek, "I love you," her lips.

And with each tender kiss to her beloved face, he whispered the litany of his love for her. The invocation falling from his lips an unrestrained prayer. He wanted her to know that he belonged to her with every breath he took and with each beating of his heart. He wanted them to be tied by bonds that nothing on this earth or the demons below or heavenly hosts above could sever.

"Marry me, Baby,." Was heis exquisite whispered, he smilinged down on her awed expression.

"I love you, but these three words seem so inadequate, they seem so meaningless compared to how I feel about you. I want you to belong to me; I want to belong to you. I know we're young and that others may not understand. All I know is that I will love you until the day I die and nothing can ever change that. Marry me, be my wife. I know it's a selfish thing to ask, but I need to know that we belong to each other, that we place each other above all others. That no matter what fate has in store for us our love will remain."

His searched her face seeking the answer in her eyes, her silence constricting his chest painfully. Oh, Merlin, were she to reject him his heart would neatly split in two. "Marry me Ginny, please – please marry me,." He whispered urgently.

"…'But we loved with a love that was more than love'." Was her whispered response.

And through her tears she gave him such a beatific smile that Harry was sure his heart would burst in his chest from the overwhelming joy that seemed to permeate his very skin.

"I need the words love, give me the words," he asked her desperation in his voice.

"Yes, Harry," she answered, him her breath hitching with the effort to keep her tears at bay. "I will marry you."

He whooped with joy and, quickly standing, picked her up and swung her around as she laughed at his exuberance.

He stopped suddenly, lowering her feet to the ground, his eyes roaming her face intently. "I don't want to wait; I want to marry you now. Where do wizards marry, Gin? We need to do this now before you change your mind." He laughed. He was so happy; he could not contain the smile that seemed to split his face in two.

She laughed with him. "We'd have to go to the Ministry, Harry and that doesn't open until nine tomorrow 9morningam tomorrow. And then she sobered as a thought seemed to flit across her features making her frown. "And besides I can't get married without my parents' consent – I'm underage and I just don't see them giving their consent."

The smile disappeared from his face at her pronouncement. "I - we can't have anyone knowing we're married anyway." An expletive burst from his lips in anger.

"There – there is a way Harry, if – if you're serious about marrying me now." She looked up at him apprehensively.

"What is it Ginny-love? I'll do it."

"There is a spell we could cast. It is archaic, very old-magic. It was used up until the nineteenth century, it's a betrothal spell. It would bind us – but it's an unbreakable magical contract, so you need to be sure this is what you really want. We would still require the final marriage bonding ceremony, but we would be to all intents and purposes married."

"That's perfect Ginny, but why are you so apprehensive about it?. You seem hesitant to use it."

She bit her lip, looking away from him before she answered. "It's an Uunbreakable Vvow, Harry. You need to be certain this is what you really want. Even though it's a betrothal vow it would bind you to me for life even if we were never to finalize the marriage bond, I would still be your wife. If you change your mind, the vow could not be severed."

He took her chin between thumb and forefinger turning her face towards him a gentle smile on his face.

"Until the day I die, Ginevra. I will love you until the day I die." His words were a whispered vow.

"Until the day I die, Harry . I will love you until the day I die,." She returned his vow to him.

Ginny bent over reaching down and lifteding the hem of her dress to expose her thigh. Attached by a garter on the inside of her thigh was her wand.

"Ginevra!" Harry exclaimed in shock and not a bit of humor and then he leered at her. "I wondered where you were keeping your wand!"

She looked up at him as she rose from her bent position and gave him a seductive smile. A smile Harry was sure was as old as Eve.

"Well, being as you're the only boy I'd ever allow to find out…" sShe trailed off as she smiled at him again.

Harry growled. "And that is as it should be, woman! You have no idea how much I love and hate this dress,." hHe said as he ran his hands over her curves, luxuriating in the silky feel of the material beneath his hands. "I could have killed Charlie for giving it to you."

Ginny blushed, a guilty look crossing her face – her nose crinkling and her mouth pouting in that way he knew that she was trying not to get caught at some mischief she had created.

"What have you done, Ginevra?" he inquired sternlyWas his stern inquiry.

She turned to look at him the blush still very much present on her face. "Umm – well you see, it's like this – I asked Charlie to help me…." sheWas her stammered in response and then her courage seemed to falter.

"Mmm hmmm, go on Ginevra."

"Well – I asked Charlie to help me in plotting operation 'Get Harry Potter', which then turned into operation 'Find Dress to Make Harry Drool" – that was fun let me tell you - you have no idea how embarrassing it can be shopping for a sexy dress with your older brother. A dress, mind you, that would make your eyes bug out of your head but wouldn't overly scandalize my Mum into hexing me and Charlie into next week. Covering your bits while showing them off could be a bit tricky – the things I do for you, Harry Potter."

"He even made me buy a pair of matching silk knickers. He argued that it would make me feel beautiful. And I hate to admit it, but he was right. You have no idea just how much a pretty pair of silky knickers can improvehave on a girl's outlook regarding her own feminine self-image."

"It was all worth it, just to see your jaw drop to your chest and the gob smacked expression on your face."

Harry shook his head to clear it and blinked owlishly at her a few times. And then he tipped his head back and roared with laughter. Gathering her in his arms he hugged her to him fiercely. Oh, yes his little Ginevra knew how to ply her feminine powers of persuasion to perfection.

"What are you laughing at, it worked, didn't it?" she pouted at him.

He smiled down at her tenderly. "Yes, Ginny-love, it worked.," Aand then he scowled darkly. "It worked a little too well. I wasn't the only one gob smacked tonight. That Frenchy Etienne was all over you like a cheap robe."

"Were you jealous? You shouldn't be. He's a handsome bloke, no doubt, quite charming and attentive…"

Harry growled in jealously along with the beast in his chest as Ginny laughed and then looked at him tenderly, beseechingly.

"But he doesn't have raven- black messy hair," she paused to run her fingers throughew his hair, making him shiver in response. "… or these piercing green eyes that make me go weak at the knees."

She traced his scar with a delicate finger and then rose up on the tips of her toes to place a kiss there. "Or this scar that you see as a deformity, a curse that has brought you nothing but pain, but I love it because it is also a part of who you are."

She took his much larger hands into her own and placed a kiss on each palm. "Or these hands, these hands that give me such pleasure and make me feel so safe." She then placed the palm of his hand against her cheek stroking his hand across its silken smoothness.

"I dated boys Harry; a few brave boys even stole a kiss or two without my permission. But even as they kissed me, Harry, my heart would be break wishing it was your lips on mine. I belonged to you from the first moment I met you, all I see - all I will ever see is you."

"Marry me, Ginny-love? Marry me, Baby, please?" He knew the smile had returned to his face. He was so giddy in his anticipation that he missed what she was saying to him.

"Your wand, Harry." She smiled at him indulgently.

"Huh?" wWas his inarticulate response.

"You're going to need your wand if you want to perform this spell, Harry."

"Oh yeah, my wand, right." He watched her as she took in their surroundings a misty smile upon her face.

"This is one of my favorite places. I would come here to think and brood." She laughed. "I've spent many an hour daydreaming about you in this very spot, laying on my stomach on that branch," she pointed to the low hanging branch over the river. "I think it's appropriate we should pledge our vows here."

"Yes, yes it is. It's perfect." _She_ was perfect, he thought.

"Ready?" He nodded his head in response to her query.

"You begin the ritual by saying the incantation ' _Ego Iuro' _–, 'I Swear'. Then I repeat it, we each in turn pledge our vows at the end of which you say '_Esto Perptua'_ –, 'Let it be Forever',." She explained. "There is a physical manifestation that the spell has taken affect, since it is different for each couple, we won't know what that is until it occurs, then you will finish the ceremony with the words ' _Finis Est'_ – 'It is Finished' "

"Ginny, I…well, I don't know what to say for my vows, I've never been to a wedding. What should I say?" He felt so stupid not knowing what to say.

"Why don't you let me say my vows first, you can take your cue from me. But y you need to begin and end the incantations - it's a patriarchal spell so I assume that is what determines who the caster is." She smiled at him ruefully.

"How do you know all this, Ginny?" Harry asked, quite curious as to her knowledge of what she had termed archaic and old magic.

He watched a blush suffuse her face. "I - well, see uh - I found it in a book about Wizarding marriages my first year at Hogwarts"

A broad, leering smiled crossed his lips., "Researching our wedding already, first year were you? Did you have your wedding dress picked out, the color of the flowers, the design for your bridesmaid's dresses?" He teased her.

"Prat."

"Yes, but I'm your prat." He bent his head to place a kiss on the crook of her neckneck;, she shivered and then laughed. He smiled against her neck at her response.

"We cross our wands," she continued as he began to place small wet kisses on her neck and the bit of shoulder that was exposed by the dress she wore.

"Harry, concentrate,." She admonished.

"Oh but I am my sweet, sweet Ginevra,." He said as he bit her neck gently then laved the spot with his tongue. She moaned and he smiled again at the reaction he had evoked.

"You – um yes – you start us off with the spell. Oour wands should glow red to indicate that we – um oh my – evoked the spell properly and then I – oh, oh – then I repeat it. You pledge your vow and then I pledge mine – oh Harry don't! I can't think when you do that!"

He had gone from placing soft tender kisses on her neck to that spot just below her ear that never failed to make her shiver in his arms. Her scent, her beautiful, glorious scent was intoxicating; she moaned again when he nipped at her ear tenderly and then placed a soothing kiss on her lobe.

"Oh Merlin, Harry" she breathed out and then valiantly proceeded to finish he explanation., "Tthen, uh, then you say the final incantation and you complete it, – mmmm – you complete it – oh Harry." She sighed as his mouth began to explore the tender skin from her jaw and slowly making his way to her mouth as he began soft nibbling wet kisses on her full lower lip pulling on it with his teeth and then soothing it with his tongue. His lips and tongue coaxeding her mouth to part, his tongue seeking entrance into her sweet mouth and then he kissed her fiercely, passionately, pouring all his love, all his strength into her through his kiss.

He lifted his head, looking down upon her face. Her lips were swollen and wet from his kiss, her eyes closed a smile of contentment upon her lips. "I love you."

Her eyes fluttered slowly open and Harry marveled at the love that shown in their depths.

Without another word spoken between them they lifted their wands and crossed them, never breaking eye contact, determination and love shinning from their eyes.

Harry began the incantation..

" _Ego Iuro_." Aas expected Harry's wand glowed a bright red. Ginny repeated the incantation and her wand shown just as brightly.

"I, Ginevra Molly Weasley, take thee Harry James Potter to love and honor, from this moment forward. EIntreat me not to leave you, or to return from following after you. For wherever you go there will I go. Wherever you live, there will I live. May your ways be my ways. When the fates take you from me, may I also be carried away with you and where you are buried there also will I be buried. Let my magic be taken from me and more also, if nothing but death part you and me. For I will love you until the day I die"

Humbled by the intensity of her vow, Harry stood in silence as her words passed through him, suffusing his mind, his body and his heart with the warmth of her love. He could do no less than return her vows to her and hope that the intent and power of her words be made truth by the strength of his own determination to see them through.

"I, Harry James Potter, take thee Ginevra Molly Weasley to love, honor and protect from this moment forward. I will love you with all my heart and all my soul in this life and the next. EIntreat me not to leave you, or to return from following after you. For wherever you go there will I go. Wherever you live, there will I live. May your ways be my ways. When the fates take you from me, may I also be carried away with you and where you are buried there also will I be buried. Let my magic be taken from me and more also, if nothing but death part you and me. For I will love you until the day I die"

"_Esto Perpetua_ " he whispered reverently and the warmth that engulfed his body was as nothing to the heat radiating from their bodies. He felt such a sense of intense love throughout his whole being that it took him a moment to realize it was not his love for Ginny that he was experiencing but her love for him spreading to every fiber of his being. Healing the wounds of his past and giving him strength to face his uncertain future. The same love and awe that he was sure was reflected in his eyes was being returned to him, there was wonder and joy there and if he were honest, a little fear for what the future would hold for them, but strength and determination to see it through no matter what tomorrow would hold for them.

"_Finis Est _" he whispered and felt the heat slowly ebb away and yet the feelings of love still lingered and surrounded them as a warm embrace. Without conscious thought he lowered his head and kissed her lips with reverence. His wife, his love, his future.

Harry knew without reservation that his life-force and Ginny's was now indivisible, that the words they spoke so carelessly yet so honestly and reverently had forged a bond that only death and omnipotence could sever. If he were to die fighting Voldemort his Ginny would soon follow and while this knowledge struck fear in his heart it, also engendered a fierce determination that he could not allow that to happen., Aabove all things his Ginny would live and with the vows that now bound them he added another. _I will win, I will return to her, I will love her in this life and the next. _

She would be his greatest source of comfort, twhat he would turn to again and again, when he felt he could not go on, when the war and the responsibility wore heavy on his shoulders. He would think of her and her love and the vow that bound them for eternity. The power the Dark Lord knows not was held in the palms of a girl too young to carry the burden, yet strong enough to see it through.

'We see as through a glass darkly', he remembered Dumbledore once saying to him. The future was not yet written; the prophesy was only the portent of what could be., Hhe could choose to be the captain of his destiny, only he could see it through to the end. Whatever the outcome, he had the strength, he had the determination and will.

And now he had the power.

He had her love.


	11. Chapter 11 George

**St. George, Dragon Slayer**

My arms dropped to my side, and my heart gave a small lurch in realization, as I watched her run into his waiting arms. She was no longer my responsibility to protect.

It never occurred to me that the day would come when she didn't run to me for comfort. If a vague and random thought did cross my mind, well, that event would take place in the far off future. I would always be the shoulder she would cry on. The person she'd run to when she'd managed to perform a prank on Ron or any number of our brothers, her eyes sparkling and her mouth smirking at them from behind me, her hands at my sides, secure in the knowledge that I wouldn't let them retaliate whatever mischief she'd managed to accomplish. Woe to the brother or anyone else that made her cry. Truth to tell, she'd had me wrapped around her little finger from the moment I set eyes on her - Literally.

It was my first childhood memory, well, my first significant childhood memory. At least I believe it to be. It's one of those stories that fall into family lore where one can never separate the stories from the actual event.

Our mum was from a very traditional wizarding family and, being the old fashioned earth mother type, gave birth to all her children on the same bed in which they were conceived. I shudder at the thought; as far as I'm concerned a mild mannered Hippogriff delivered all the Weasley siblings to our parents' doorstep and, for the sake of my sanity and overall mental well-being, I'm sticking to that theory. My other half were three at the time, and, other than accidentally turning Percy's hair pink at the breakfast table one morning, nothing really stands out from that time other than the birth of the first female Weasley since perhaps Wendelin the Weird was burned at the stake, fourteen times no less.

Ginny's impending birth wrought an overwhelming sense of excitement in the Weasley household, something Fred and I could sense but not completely understand. The family, with the exception of our dad, talked about the impending arrival of our baby sister constantly, as if her gender was a forgone conclusion, as impossible as that may have been. Our mother had already picked out a silly name. Given family tradition and our dad's penchant for indulging our mum's whimsical nature, our poor baby sister was christened Ginevra Molly Weasley.

Lucky for her neither our father nor her besotted brothers, myself included of course, were of a traditional disposition. She was quickly dubbed Ginny, as well as various and sundry appellations of the affectionate variety.

I remember the first time I held that tiny fragile pink bundle in my arms. How those soulful brown eyes looked into mine so intensely as if pondering the worlds mysteries in my very eyes and the sudden happy gurgling that ensued as she wrapped her delicate little fingers around my own. From that moment on I decided that she would be my responsibility to protect and safeguard.

Well that's how the Weasley family lore tells it anyway. It's a question of which came first the Diricawl or the egg. Did my sense of responsibility spring from family lore or was it an innate sense of duty toward the littlest Weasley that created the tales that entertained my family through the years?

I was barely out of nappies myself for Merlin's sake; I couldn't have understood or chosen such a roll on a cognizant level. I didn't have the words or conscious thoughts to explain my sense of responsibility, but from that moment forward, as the stories go, I could be found by her cradle just watching her as she slept. I'd be the first by her side when she cried. I would even alert our mum when she needed changing or when I thought she was hungry. Now mind I don't remember any of this, but the stories have been recounted so many times that it's somehow been implanted in my psyche as a ghost of a memory.

Our mum's favorite story involves my performing accidental magic by Apparating to Ginny's side as she slept peacefully in her cradle because I thought I'd heard her crying. At the time Ron, Fred and I were chasing the Garden Gnomes for sport in our backyard. The way our mum recounts it, Fred had said; "We were playing and then he went poof mummy".

And so it came to pass that after one particular incident that I don't recall with any certainty round about the time Ginny was a year old and toddling, walking and out right running all over the Burrow that I was knighted official guardian of the Maiden of Mischief. Garden Gnomes took to chasing a shrieking and terrified Ginny around our yard. Hearing her frightened cries, I came barreling out of the Burrow brandishing my mum's broom and proceeded to whack Gnomes left and right with my trusty wooden broom – uh, sword. Said act of chivalry was sufficiently heroic and self-sacrificing to have me canonized St. George, Patron Saint of one Ginevra Molly Weasley fair and beauteous maiden of the clan Weasley, slayer of Garden Gnomes throughout Britain. Again as family legend would have it, Dad, that is Lord Weasley, took my broom – sword, my noble sword – tapping me on the shoulder and proclaiming to all, "Arise noble knight, henceforth known as Sir George the Dragon Slayer." Sainthood and knighthood all in a days work. Brilliant!

Family lore traditionally proclaimed how the fair and beauteous Maiden of Mischief was now very much aware of said protector and then proceeded upon all sorts of adventures and mischief secure in the knowledge that her protector would not be far off and that no harm would befall her other than a scraped knee or two. And believe me, it was a full-time job. Who'd have thought that something so small and deceptively innocent could get into so much trouble of both the intentional and unintentional variety.

Oh, I didn't let her get away with murder – much. But she knew if there was something she really wanted and everyone else had turned her down, she could run to me. If it was within my power and it wouldn't harm her in anyway, I'd move the wizarding and Muggle world alike to give it to her.

When she eight Fred and I were off on September 1st on our first train ride to Hogwarts. I remember my mixed feelings of excitement about our impending entry into the renowned wizarding school and my worry over having to leave Ginny behind for the entire school year. She came to our room that morning in the midst of our frantic last minute packing. Standing in the threshold of our room teary eyed, bottom lip quivering in her effort to hold it in. I silently opened my arms and without hesitation she ran to me wrapping her too small arms around my waist and sobbing her eyes out. She'd stuck to me like a Bugbear all the way to Kings Cross Station.

Before boarding the 'Express' and after promises to write and a very tearful goodbye from Ginny, I'd hunkered down to an all too serious Ron's height, reminding him that Ginny was his to protect until I returned from Hogwarts. I held out my much larger hand to my baby brother who solemnly shook it and nodded his head in agreement. It was strange to see my usually jovial and rambunctious brother so serious; he'd taken my directive to heart and swore he'd take care of Ginny in my absence. Much to Ginny's annoyance, many years later she told me he still didn't quite grasp the nuances between protective git and overbearing, self-righteous, misguided git!

Even so, it was not a directive that needed to be stated. We called ourselves the Weasley six, when referring to our roles as the protectors of our family's greatest treasure. And she was. I know it sounds barmy and overly sentimental, but she was a gift to us in a way, she was a rarity, a pearl among the swine. Whenever the Weasley siblings could be seen out and about, six rather large rambunctious, rowdy, rough and ready boys jostling about and one diminutive and deceptively fragile and dainty little girl trailing behind, it wasn't difficult to make that type of comparison. She was the baby of the family, the smallest, the most vulnerable; we couldn't help but feel the need to safeguard what we held most dear.

It was a responsibility we took very seriously and yet one we so miserably failed to execute during Ginny's first year at Hogwarts. There was such a shift in her personality that year; she'd become quiet and shy, introverted – stranger still she'd become suddenly mute. Our Ginny who was a regular magpie was suddenly silent. Her crush on Ron's best mate Harry Potter was fodder for our teasing, and we were relentless. Ginny could usually give as good as she got. Growing up Weasley thick skin was imperative, but when it came to her crush she was defenseless. I've often thought if we'd treated Ginny differently that year, less of an annoying baby sister and nuisance and more like the fiery, precious and precocious sister we knew her to be, Harry would have noticed her far sooner than he did. After all he did take his cue from our own conduct towards her that year, although he was never callous towards her, just indifferent.

Four Weasley brothers at Hogwarts and not a single one of us noticed her struggle. I was fourteen that year and finally noticing that, thank Merlin, Hogwarts was co-ed. Fred and I were on the Quidditch team, had a reputation in mischief to keep up, pranks to execute and studies to ignore. Percy was a perfect Prefect and had quite shockingly, in my opinion, acquired a girlfriend. Ron was preoccupied with Harry and Hermione, a broken wand, regurgitating slugs and trying to discover the riddle to the Heir of Slytherin. Ginny was the furthest thing from all our minds.

The signs that something was terribly wrong were all present, but we were all too wrapped up in our own little worlds to see what was right before our eyes. If we'd deigned to look, we would have seen the dark circles under her eyes, her pale skin, and the looseness of her clothes from the drastic weight loss. She wasn't sleeping. She wasn't eating, and yet we failed to see. And I her champion, her slayer of Dragons, was the blindest of all.

I'd kept her from eating a caterpillar when she was one, prevented a hundred or so scraped knees during her awkward, clumsy stage, rescued her from her tree house when it was first built, because she could climb up without a problem, but climbing down terrified her. I chased away the Doxy she swore was under her bed and the Vampire that hid in the closet. And yet the one time she needed me, truly needed me, I failed her. We all failed her.

And that is what pains us all to the core. That we let that which was special and precious to us all be touched and violated by evil.

She is the strongest, most powerful witch I know. Size is no guarantee of power, and Ginny is the personification of that particular adage. Wizards far more wizened and powerful than her would have buckled under the onslaught of the pervasive evil she was subjected to her first year. And not only did our Ginny survive, she thrived.

We never spoke of it, not then and not since. There was never a look of recrimination. She didn't blame me for not protecting her, oh no, she blamed herself; the burden of guilt was placed solely on her shoulders.

Her second year at Hogwarts was not much better than the first. Ginny was finding it hard to adjust and make friends. She was still shy and introverted, kept to herself and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. It wasn't until sometime in November that Ginny let her personality shine when Snape made the mistake of making a snide remark about the Chamber of Secrets. Ginny retaliated in kind earning her a weeks worth of detention. She'd stared down the Potions Master with a steely gaze that wizard's twice her age would have found hard to pull off. The Ginny that would take no guff from her brother's and from that moment forward she took no guff from her classmates either.

While her first year was unremarkable and marred by the events of the Chamber, her second year was a surprise to her professors. She was top in her class in all except History of Magic which she loathed - she called it 'Nap Time with Binns,'

She was an exceptional student but not in the way that Hermione or Percy was. Ginny never flaunted or made a fuss about her scores or her standing. She wasn't pompous like Percy or a walking-Encyclopedia like Hermione. She was never condescending and when asked was more than willing to help others with their coursework. She befriended Colin Creevey and Luna Lovegood that year and, much to my surprise, Neville Longbottom as well.

While the incident in Snape's class had garnered her a peculiar popularity, Ginny did not in any way utilize it to gain entrance into the popular clique in her year, regardless of their attempts to the contrary. The self-same clique that had shunned her for her brothers' hand-me-down robes and her tatty textbooks remained distant acquaintances. Ginny was an exceptional judge of character and loyal to the very end. Even when the possibility to attend the Yule Ball with the boy she'd been in love with since nappies presented itself, she remained steadfast in her acceptance of Neville's invitation and would never have considered otherwise.

That Yule Ball was the bane of the Hogwarts' Weasley Three. We always thought Ginny was as cute as a baby Unicorn, and we would grudgingly admit that the potential for beauty was always present, but in her Third year our baby sister blossomed and, unfortunately for us, she blossomed in all the right places. How Harry didn't notice her at this juncture was, quite frankly, a mystery.

It became a full-time job keeping the blokes away. Unfortunately Michael – the git – Corner got to her before we were aware of his attentions, not to mention the little minx managed to keep the relationship from us for most of the second term. It wasn't until the beginning of her Fourth year that we caught on, and by then it was a bit late. Though we did put the fear of Merlin into the smarmy git, we decided to let the sleeping dragon lie rather than hurt Ginny at that juncture by making him end the relationship. Ginny, Merlin love her, dropped him faster than a Snidget when he threw a petulant fit after her catching the Snitch against Ravenclaw's Cho Chang. Ginny's unattached status provided us with the challenge of keeping the more daring blokes away. But who best to rise to that challenge than the Gryffindor Gagster's? Believe me; Fred and I threw ourselves wholeheartedly to the task. That girl has been the unknown inspiration for many of our best selling Weasley Wizard Wheezes products, bless her little red head.

While our seemingly primary objective was to keep away the hormonal masses, our true goal was the ultimate pairing of our two favorite people – Harry and Ginny. Why you might ask? Because it was what our Ginny wanted, and, while she put on a brave front and told a nosy Hermione that she had given up on Harry, my other half and I knew differently.

No one could ever accuse Fred or me of not enjoying our tenure at Hogwarts because we enjoyed it to the fullest. However, the Year of the Toad was the most challenging of our Hogwarts career, and while we certainly ended it with a bang – literally – we were forced to watch our two favorite people suffer at the hands of that toad faced megalomaniac. Ginny, served as many detentions as Harry that year. She never made mention of it, and Harry of course was totally oblivious to the fact that the detentions were garnered due to her very vocal defense of him during what was perhaps one of the lowest points of his life - and considering his life that was saying something.

This is why when Ginny came to us begging us to create a large enough diversion to allow Harry a brief Floo conversation with Sirius that we jumped on the task like a Niffler to gold. Well that and the fact that we would do almost anything for our little Gollywobbles.

I'd do anything for my Smidgette, and I'd almost lost a best friend over her. I'd noticed how Lee had taken a particular interest in the littlest Weasley and how he'd taken to watching her whenever she walked into a room. I confronted him about it one evening, and we even came to blows. It was entirely my fault, really, because I let my over-protectiveness get the better of me. I'd said some things that were quite frankly unforgiveable; I must have been channeling Ron to have been that completely insensitive. Fred, Lee and I became fast friends as Firsties on the Hogwarts Express, we were inseparable, partners in crime and mischief. During the summer hols Lee spent as much time at the Burrow as Harry did and, as Weasley's tend to do, we adopted him. I knew his mettle and deep down I knew Lee would never make inappropriate advances towards Ginny, but watching his reaction to her when she came to visit Fed and I in the 7th year boy's dormitory – well let's just say that it set my overactive imagination to reeling. Lee for his part admitted his attraction to our sister but was well aware that her heart was otherwise engaged. Added to that was the fact that he didn't want to jeopardize our friendship and his status as an honorary Weasley.

Ginny never took notice of that sort of thing. She was completely oblivious of her attraction and was always rather surprised when a bloke chatted-her-up. I think that was partly due to the fact that to some extent we treated Ginny like the 7th Weasley brother. Mind we were over-protective gits; we never let her join us in our rough and tumble games or play Quidditch with us. She wasn't one for frilly doodads or ribbons. She could argue Quidditch stats with Ron like a pro and she could throw a punch like an Irish brawler thanks to Charlie.

The only girlish concession was her room and that was to please our mum. Ginny never exhibited that rebellious 'my mum's an idiot' stage, mostly because she knew how to work our mum. That's not to say they didn't have their fair share of rows with our dad running interference. Both were very stubborn, determined witches and no one, not even her own children, could stop Molly Weasley from protecting her cubs. The only time Ginny ever rebelled against our mum was when she tried to keep her baby girl just that, a baby girl.

After the DoM fiasco, our mum was particularly determined to regress Ginny to the age of nappies, and Ginny was having none of that. Second week into the summer hols, Ginny had had enough, and they'd had what was evermore referred to as the 'Clash of the Titans' row. I think the Burrow shook with the magical energy that emitted from the enraged witches, their hair blowing around them by an unseen force as their aura seemed to glow red in their rage. I'd never seen anything quite like it, and we, all of us including our dad, ducked for cover. Our mum was determined to protect Ginny from herself and Ginny was determined to do what she had been taught to do, stand up for what she believed in no matter the consequences. Weren't her parents and her two oldest brother's members of the Order? Weren't Fred and I determined to join the very second we turned seventeen? Hadn't Ron been involved in the fight from the moment he met Harry Potter on the Hogwarts Express that fateful day? She'd even quoted Dumbledore's speech after the events of the Triwizard Tournament, 'remember Cedric Diggory,' and the words that had been embedded in our hearts and minds ever since, 'to do what was right and not what was easy'.

At this our mum's knees seemed to give out as she fell back onto a chair and broke down in uncontrollable sobs. She swore that she would not be like Cedric's mum. No parent should ever have to bury their own child, and she would not lose her baby girl to this cursed war. She wouldn't be able to live if she lost any of her children; she'd rather be buried with them than to have to endure such a fate. But Merlin help her she would not lose her only daughter. At that point Ginny's anger was replaced by her own tears as she fell at our mum's feet, wrapping her arms around her waist as they cried together, each whispering words of consolation.

What was said we don't know, but whatever was said seemed to have drawn them closer together, forging a bond that only women who must face the consequences of war can. They ended up reconciling over turning Ginny's room into one fit for the young lady she was becoming. Ginny, was thrilled, and the Weasley coffers were just a tad bit lighter for it, but it was worth it to see Ginny's beaming face.

Fred and I were no longer attending Hogwarts when Ginny began her Fifth year, but, being the prolific letter writer that she was, we were kept informed of the goings on. When Harry finally took his head out of his proverbial arse and noticed that the 7th Weasley was in fact a girl and a beautiful one at that, we were kept woefully uninformed. It was her beautiful and terrible secret, too precious to share so frivolously and to convey in a letter. She admitted later that the only Weasley she'd told in the form of a letter was Percy and only because she knew the pretentious, puffed-up prat wasn't answering her letters in return. I learned of the happy union through Ron. So when I witnessed a love-sick, woefully depressed Harry and a puffy-eyed Ginny at King's Cross Station I was admittedly baffled, not to mention ready to do bodily harm to the boy-who-made-our-sister-cry.

The noble pillock gave her up for her own protection. I couldn't really fault him for that, but to see my sister in so much pain gave me the desire to inflict like pain. But when I again laid eyes on the boy-who-broke-my-sister's-heart there was such anguish in his own eyes that I just didn't have the heart to do what my brotherly instincts demanded. Ginny, acted as if nothing had happened and treated Harry like the 8th Weasley, causing Harry's already hang-dog expression to elevate to new, heretofore unattainable heights. I'd never seen two people who loved each other more or who deserved to be happy as much as they did.

After Bill and Fluer's wedding the trio disappeared on the 'mission' Dumbledore had set them. What that was exactly no one really knew - not even the Order. I had my suspicions that Ginny knew more than she was letting on. I thought she would be devastated at their departure, but, rather than seeing a depressed and torn up Ginny, we were presented with a determined one. She threw herself into her studies, reestablished the DA, was Quidditch Captain, created a battle trained unit of healers and prepared as much as she was able for a final confrontation that she asserted would take place at Hogwarts.

For our part, we helped her in any way we could. Fred and I, at her insistence, stopped making new products for WWW and started making Weasley's War Widgets. Being evil geniuses does have its rewards. After the war the Ministry asked us to sell them our Widgets for the Auror department. We made a killing – pun intended. We of course shared our good fortune with our family, but Ginny had the lion's share. It was only fair considering that girl inadvertently made us a fortune.

But here I stand hands at my side and my eyes prickling with – allergies, I have allergies this time of year – as she stood in the circle of the arms of the man-who-stole-her-heart. I should have known all those years ago that her very own knight in shinning armor and slayer of Basilisks would one day usurp my role as the patron saint of the Maiden of Mischief, the fair and beauteous Ginevra Weasley.

All these years I looked out for her, worried about her, did my best to give her the desires of her heart, scared away imaginary monsters, potential boyfriends and an army of hormonal Hogwartians, bandaged scraped knees, soothed away nightmares and even beat up my best friend.

She looked over Harry's shoulder and gave me a watery smile and then a mischievous conspiratorial wink then walked away arm in arm with her future, her protector, her all. My heart gave another little jump in my chest as I realized that even though she was no longer my responsibility, that the task for Ginny's safety and happiness lay in the arms of the messy raven haired bespectacled savior of the wizarding world – her Harry – she would always need me, always love me. I'd always be her St. George.

Maybe she'd ask me to rescue a Kneazle from a tree. Hey it could happen; we patron saints are handy like that.


	12. Chapter 12 Epilogue

…**For Thy Sweet Love Remembered**

**A Love Beyond All Knowledge**

**By Harry James Potter III A Great-Grandson Remembers**

Today we grieve the loss of the greatest woman I have ever known, my great-grandmother Ginevra Molly Weasley Potter, known to her children and grandchildren as simply Mum. This grief follows closely on the heels of the loss of her beloved husband Harry James Potter. It came as little surprise when Mum followed him so closely in death; it was rare indeed to ever see one without the other.

There was a time, though hardly imaginable now, when it was thought that the Potter line would die with my grandfather. Marrying into the Weasley line aided in not only it's continuation but its abundant prosperity in the form of nine children, twenty seven grandchildren and to be honest I've lost count of how many great-grandchildren we are. Needless to say that the Potter family reunions are a wondrous sight to behold a veritable sea of black and red and Papa thrived on them, the twinkle in those piercing green eyes were always brighter when he was surrounded by his children.  
But they were never brighter than when he gazed upon his wife. It was always evident to us how deeply they loved each other it was exclusive of everything else that surrounded them. Their love was the power that vanquished a dark lord. Their love restored a family on the brink of extinction. Their love was boundless and was given without reservation to all those they held dear. Their love rebuilt a crumbling society by building orphanages and creating scholarships and endowments for those affected by the war. Greatest of all their love was immeasurable and their love gave us hope.

Harry James Potter was known as the man-who-conquered, the chosen one, and the savior of the wizarding world. But it was Ginevra Molly Weasley who was the power behind the man. Without her the world as we know it would be a much bleaker place. I do not wish to contemplate life without her love and presence in our lives.

She was a beloved daughter, sister, friend, wife and mother. Sometimes criticized and reviled by the very society that extolled her virtues, right along with her husband. She would laugh at the rubbish that was sometimes written about them and ignored both the praise and contempt heaped upon them throughout their lives.

A powerful witch in her own right, she had to be if she was to keep up with Papa. She had a temper to rival Circe's and a heart as boundless as the sea. She had a smile that could light up a room and a temper that could clear it. Slow to anger and swift to pardon, fiercely loyal to those she loved and infinitely patient with those who wished her ill, though she suffered fools lightly.

Her laughter was contagious, her exuberance a joy. Even in her old age she was spry and had an inner energy to rival the sun. No one basked in the sun that was Ginny Potter more so than her husband - she was his life, his passion and his reason for living. She was stronger than he in many ways and we always thought that her passing would have been more than he could have endured.  
The day Papa died the light that seemed to shine through her eyes dimmed, yet she did not shed a tear. There was an enigmatic yet sad smile upon her lips that seemed to hold a secret knowledge. Surrounded by grieving family and friends Mum simply walked over to the white marble that enshrouded her beloved Harry kissed its sun warmed surface and asked him to wait for her. The next day Mum followed.

We settled their estate and gathered their many possessions some to be kept as family heirlooms as requested in their wills and others to be given to the Wizarding War Memorial Museum. Among Mum's most treasured possession we found her music box, it contained a packet of letters that were dated during the height of the war, during their year-long separation. There were no instructions regarding these letters and as we gathered together and read them we wondered why. The letters from Papa were filled with a fierce longing to be near her. Mum's letters were filled with hope for their future. Her letters never faltered in their faith, they painted for him a picture of their future life together. Her hope filled imaginings did not come close to the beautiful, bountiful life pictured for them — their life together far surpassed them.

I don't think that I can begin to put into words what it means to grow up a Potter. To be a third generation removed from a man who is listed in Hogwarts: A History, as a savior. To have biographies written about him, to be asked to write terms papers in History of Magic about the Battle of Hogwarts and in turn write about the man who bounced you on his knee and changed your nappies as a baby and cheered you from the stands during Quidditch matches. Our family name was never a burden but carried with pride we are Gryffindors by lineage and lions at heart and we live by our family motto Fortis et fidus - Brave and faithful.

We were blessed with the great fortune of having known the man behind the legend and the woman behind the man. Our pride is not manifest in the knowledge that we are descendants of a hero, our pride is now manifold in the knowledge of the boy who would sacrifice his life, his hopes, his dreams and his love for a world that could never know or hope to understand the price he was willing to pay so that future generations might live.

Our family gathered with a sense of solemn reverence for the reading of their letters. The awe and wonder these letters inspired I cannot even begin to describe. We lived their love, joy and desperation with each passing letter. The words blurred upon the aged yellow parchment, my voice wavering with each uttered word and as we reached their final letters on the eve of that fateful battle. Our pride, and love for them could not be contained within our hearts. Our perceptions, our ideals of them were altered forever. They were no longer Papa and Mum they were young lovers whose love was limitless, a love it seems that could not be contained by earthly bounds.

The bulk of the letters remain as Potter family heirlooms. However, our family has chosen to have their last letter to each other displayed so future generations may know that love was the power that vanquished a dark lord.

_Dear Ginny,_

_We have done what we've set out to do; and perhaps tomorrow I will be facing death. I sit here on this warm summer night alone in my tent, alone with my thoughts of you and I cannot help but wish that I could see you again._

_I don't want to die, not now that I have a reason to live, in you. But if I should die tomorrow, I want you to know that had we lived a full life together I would not have loved you more than I do at this moment. The guilt I feel knowing that if I die tomorrow you will soon follow is killing me. But Ginny, knowing that I will not have to wait to see you again makes me happy. Forgive me for being so selfish, but of all the things I've had to give up in my life, all the things I've had to sacrifice, not being with you has been the hardest._

_We have chosen to do what is right. I do not regret surrendering my life for the greater good - there is no greater love that a man lay down his life for others. I am willing to make that sacrifice, but Ginny, to sacrifice not only my life but yours and our future happiness is a sacrifice that no one should have to make._

_I hate the prophecy that has brought me here to this moment where all that I love and hold close to my heart may be lost in a moment and when all I want is to be with you. But if I had to choose between never having known what it's like to have your love and to lose that love I would still choose to love you - always. Every night in my dreams I have lived our future life together, just as you painted them for us in your letters. I saw you swollen with our first baby, so beautiful. I saw our children off to school on the first of September. I saw you, just as you are now, young, beautiful and I saw you wrinkled with age and yet to my eyes you were always beautiful._

_I want you to know that it is your love that gives me strength to do what I have to do. And if I must die, it will be your face I see in my final moment, your name I will call and I will wait for you._

_Dearest Harry,_

_I will not believe that fate can be so cruel as to rob us our future joys. We will have time to love and to live, I swear it._

_I do not want to die; I want to live with you. We may yet live to see the children you dreamed of grow and prosper. I don't want you to feel guilty about what may happen. I don't think I could live if you weren't here with me. If you are to die tomorrow I will be happy knowing I will soon follow you._

_I know only one thing, I was born to love and be loved by you. I would not choose to change my fate with another. In the whole world in all the times before us and all the future ahead of us, no one has loved as we have loved. If all we have is yesterday then I shall count myself blessed to have spent these precious moments with you._

_Have faith my love, no matter the outcome we shall be together and in the end I ask for no greater fate than to spend eternity with you._

_Think of my love for you and wait for me._

* * *

AN Part One

I would like to thank the readers who were kind enough to take the time and leave me such lovely and heartening reviews. You're to thank for my actually finishing the darn thing. I can attest to the adage that states the reward is in the journey and I thank you for taking this journey with me. May the Lord bless and keep you all.

Enchanted Miami, FL 2008

* * *

AN Part Two:

The inspirations for this epilogue are many...

Kschneyer's "On the Headmaster's Wall" and "Report on the Excavations of Sites HH-87 and HH-88", so beautifully written, he always makes me cry. But none more so than W.H. Auden's poem 'Stop All the Clocks" which kept running through my mind as an anthem for those who grieve.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,  
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,  
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum  
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead  
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,  
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,  
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,  
My working week and my Sunday rest,  
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;  
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;  
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;  
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.  
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

* * *

AN Part Three:

The letters I chose to post in the body of the chapter are in what I hope is a Harry and Ginny voice. The one I originally wanted to post are in my pretentiously flowery prose. The style I hoped to imitate were inspired by he Letters of Abelard and Heloise, which are so poignantly beautiful given the circumstances behind their separation. Sullivan Ballou's last letter to his wife on the eve of the Battle of Bull Run where he met his fate and Sir Thomas Mallory's Le Morte d'Arthur. Even little Willie Shakes made his appearance in the 29th Sonnet. Those letters can be found here…

_My Beloved Wife,_

_We have done what we've set out to do; the end is near and perhaps tomorrow I shall be no more. I sit here on this warm summer night alone in my tent, alone with my thoughts of you and I cannot help but wish that I could see your lovely face just once more._

_I do not wish to die, not now that I have a reason to live. But if tomorrow I am no more, know that I have loved a lifetimes worth with you. I am wracked with the burden of guilt that if I should die tomorrow you will soon follow. But Ginny, to know that I will not wait long for you when I am gone in turn brings me such great joy. Forgive me my selfishness, my thoughtlessness but to be separated from you even in death is unbearable._

_We have chosen to do what is right. I do not regret surrendering my life for the greater good - there is no greater love that a man lay down his life for others. I am willing to make that sacrifice, but Ginny, to sacrifice not only my life but yours and our future happiness is a sacrifice that no man should be made to endure._

_I curse the fates that brought me here to this moment on the brink of battle and yet if I had to lose what precious time I've spent with you from our yesterday's until this very moment I would not change my fate with another. I have lived our future dream each night in my sleep. I have watched our children grow around us, I have seen you in the beauty of youth and the maturity of age and each stage of our lives in-between and your beauty was never diminished in my eyes._

_Know that it is your love that gives me strength to endure what must be done, your face I shall see in my final moment, your name upon my lips. I will wait for you._

_Beloved Husband,_

_I will not believe that fate can be so cruel as to rob us our future joys. We will have time to love and to live, I swear it. I stand here on the parapets of the castle feeling the irony of having been named for a queen who perhaps stood on a similar parapet on the eve of the battle of Camlann awaiting the fate of her king. I only lack the habits of a nun to bring the imagery to life. I do not wear the habits but I feel as if I have taken the vows of the novitiate. I am cloistered behind these stone walls, solitary, celibate, silent._

_I do want choose to die, I choose to live with you and we may yet live to see the children of our union grow and prosper. I relieve you of your burden - would you consign me to an empty life without you? If it is your fate to die tomorrow I too will be happy in the knowledge that I will soon follow you in the afterlife._

_I know only one thing, I was born to love and be loved by you. I would not choose to change my fate with another, for none have loved as we have loved and if all we have is yesterday then I shall count myself blessed to have spent these precious moments with you._

_Have faith my love, no matter the outcome we shall be together and in the final reckoning I ask for no greater fate than to spend eternity with you._

_Whenever my faith weakens and this burden seems too heavy to bear I meditate on the words of the 29th Sonnet and it gives me hope to face whatever future fate has planned for us._

_When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,  
I all alone beweep my outcast state,  
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,  
And look upon my self and curse my fate,  
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,  
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,  
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,  
With what I most enjoy contented least,  
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,  
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,  
(Like to the lark at break of day arising  
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate,  
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,  
That then I scorn to change my state with kings._

_Think on these words, think of my love for you and wait for me._


End file.
